


Almost Perfect

by Mischief_Goddess



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anal Sex, Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America Steve Rogers, Domestic Avengers, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Feels, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Partner Fic for Bound Souls, Period-Typical Homophobia, Porn With Plot, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Semi-public masturbation, Size Difference, Smut, Steve is a smol bean, Suicide Attempt, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23690971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mischief_Goddess/pseuds/Mischief_Goddess
Summary: Steve Rogers was in love. It took him a long time to figure that out, but he finally did. The only issue? He was in love with his best friend, a man who was most certainly straight. Such feelings were not only illegal, but just...wrong. And much to his chagrin, those urges didn’t seem like they were going to be lessening any time soon. Thus begins the most important chapter in the story of the tiny asthmatic artist who became the great Captain America.This is the partner fic for Bound Souls, and serves as the Captain’s back-story! It will continue on into Bound Souls, but from Steve’s perspective.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Loki/Tony Stark, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 67
Kudos: 98





	1. The Day It All Changed

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own MARVEL (If I did, Steve and Bucky would have a legendary love story in Captain America: The First Avenger and there would be no Captain America: Civil War, because I could not do that to my boys!) Also, thanks to the authors and artists of all the other fabulous Stucky fan-fics and fan-art out there for inspiring me to write this story...and yes, I will be sharing all of the gems I have found out there, along with incorporating some of them into the story, just like with Bound Souls. So, thanks in advance to the fabulous writers and to the amazing artists for all the pics, because everyone knows that I drew none of them! They probably go with other fan-fictions, but some are rather ambiguous and fit my story too, so oh well. 0.0  
> I have tried my best to stay accurate to the 1930s and 40s, referring to common phrases, songs, pop culture, and history. There have been many, many hours of research for this fic! Please do let me know if anything is glaringly out of place, as I am obviously not going to get everything right. *runs away from the historians and experts judging me*  
> Hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter with the threat of rape. Why do my fics start out like this? I have no idea. Don't worry, it's just a drunk dude in a back alley. Well, maybe you should worry a little...Steve is just a smol bean, after all.

_—==July 6th, 1939==—_  
  
It was a hot summer’s day, 1939, two days after his birthday, when he had first realized it. Bucky took him to Coney Island, and they were laughing about the time a few years back when the older man had convinced him to ride the Cyclone, and Steve had vomited afterward.  
“Whaddya say to getting some caramel apples and calling it a day, pal? You’re lookin’ tired.”  
Steve frowned, not wanting the night to end yet. This was the first time he had felt so giddy in a long time. His mom’s death had hit him harder than he wanted to admit to himself or Bucky. But his life was slowly falling back into place, and he was happy, right here and now. Bucky had worn a smile on his face all day long, and Steve had found that he didn’t want to let that go.  
“You wanna um, ride the Ferris wheel before we go?” he asked Bucky quickly, wincing at how awkward he sounded. He had no idea what had just happened, to make everything feel so foreign.  
Bucky grinned back, “Sure, if you’re not worried about the height.”  
Steve rolled his eyes, “You know that isn’t one of the things I’m ‘fraid of, Buck.”

“Well, the air’s thinner up there, so thought I’d check,” Bucky teased.

He sighed. He hated being so weak, so pathetic, making Bucky have to be the strong one. He hated being on edge, not knowing when his next asthma attack would happen, or if he would pull through when he was collapsed in Bucky’s arms in a mad fit of coughing. But he was grateful to the older man, even if it was embarrassing. More than grateful. Bucky had stuck with him since they were kids, through every hardship, and for what reason, Steve had not the slightest idea.  
He nodded absentmindedly, realizing Bucky had been waiting for an answer.  
“Hey, punk,” Bucky chuckled, “What’s even goin’ on in that noodle of yours? You’ve been in the clouds all day.”  
“Sorry, just thinkin’.”  
“About small skinny dames you’d like to get with someday, no doubt,” Bucky poked fun at him, and Steve found himself blushing again, another annoying character trait that he’d like to be rid of. He flushed at the stupidest comment of Bucky’s, and it drove him crazy.  
Bucky just laughed at his scandalized expression and ruffled his hair, “Come on, caramel apples and good lookin’ gals right this way.”  
Steve chuckled awkwardly, and followed after, soon sinking his teeth into his favorite treat apart from the ritual ice cream from a stand near his apartment once every three Wednesdays.  
“Thanks for bringing me here, Buck,” Steve smiled his appreciation as they climbed into the tiny carriage of the Ferris wheel.  
“Hey, anything for you, pal,” Bucky grinned back, “I figured we might as well use my raise for somethin’ special.”  
There was a sudden awkward silence as they slowly rose up into the air, and Steve began to shiver in the cooler evening air.  
Bucky had worn a light jacket around his waist all day for reasons unknown to Steve, and without a word, he untied it and draped it over him. Steve felt immediately warmer, but not entirely because of the extra clothing item. The jacket had the comforting scent that was just Bucky, a musky cologne, the lingering scent of spilled alcohol of some sort. He wished he could just lean against Bucky and breathe in that scent all day. He suddenly felt like he was suffocating in heat; couldn’t get enough air in the tiny space. Why was he thinking thoughts like these? What was wrong with him?  
He smiled weakly in thanks, sure his burning cheeks were brightly colored. He hoped Bucky thought they were red merely from the cold, but Bucky was no idiot. Suddenly, Bucky was moving, flopping down in the bench seat on his side and putting an arm up on the rail behind him lazily.  
Steve’s breath hitched and he felt like vomiting. It was like a switch had been flicked all of a sudden, and now he couldn’t...be friends with Bucky? Be with Bucky? Couldn’t be normal around Bucky? What was it that was so different today? Bucky had sat beside him like this countless times before, so what was making him so uncomfortable this time? Bucky was saying something about his dock work but all Steve could think about was the bare skin of Bucky’s toned arm brushing again the back of his neck, and the warm coat that smelled like his lifelong friend draped over his shoulders. He found himself focusing on the casual nuances of Bucky’s speech. He looked over and noticed, not for the first time, Bucky’s chiseled, highly-attractive appearance. And he found himself questioning if all these years of staring had really been out of jealousy. He felt like laughing hysterically. He was thinking crazy thoughts. Bucky was a friend, so of course he looked at him a lot, he was around him a lot, right? But the longer he thought about it, the more he realized it wasn’t true. He shuddered in self revulsion as a half-formed thought in his mind completed itself. Bucky was no idiot. In fact, he was pretty good at discerning how someone was feeling, especially when that person was Steve. Bucky was surely sensing the uncomfortable tension between them now, the strange feeling that had just popped up out of nowhere but felt like it had always been there in hiding. Steve couldn’t even bear to think about it; suddenly, it was like he couldn’t get away from Bucky fast enough, and he stumbled out of the little car without explanation as soon as it hit the ground.  
“Steve, wait! What’s wrong?” Bucky cried, tailing him as he slipped through the crowd.  
Steve left the park area with long strides, breathing heavily as he jogged. Bucky’s jacket was suddenly far too heavy on his back, but he couldn’t bring himself to take it off. He headed out of the park, and felt his adrenaline rush start to wear off as he jogged to the nearest bus terminal. He started to feel a nasty guilt in his gut for leaving Bucky behind. He could wait at the stop. Buses to Brooklyn Heights usually came every twelve minutes or so. He glanced down at his watch as he jogged and did some quick calculations. So they had been at Coney Island for a grand total of an hour and forty six minutes, not including the five for walking in and out of the park and to the bus terminal. So 156 minutes since they’d last gotten off the bus, which, Steve noted with some amusement, perfectly divided into 12. Unfortunately, that meant he likely would just barely miss the latest departure. Oh well. Now Bucky had 12 whole minutes to catch up. Steve could wait. He slowed to a walk, feeling the last of his adrenaline finally wear off, realizing that the math had done a great job of distracting him long enough for his spinning head to catch up with the rest of his body. Oh hell, he had really been a jerk, hadn’t he? He hoped that he hadn’t worried his friend too much by his sudden departure. Bucky would eventually catch up, and then Steve would apologize.

Well, that was if he made it to the bus terminal.  
Cutting across a back alley to get to the nearest terminal, really not a smart move when he thought about it, turned out to be a even worse idea when he collapsed against a overgrown brick wall, out of breath. The exertion finally caught up with his pathetic lungs, and it wasn’t pretty.  
If he hadn’t been able to get enough air before, now his lungs were being crushed. He was taking frantic, shallow breaths and but no air relieved the pain growing in his chest.  
At the same time, he saw a buff brunette with a messy goatee keenly surveying him from where he had been leaning against the wall smoking. The predatory smile of a shark graced the man’s countenance, and Steve felt fear flow through his veins, the rush of adrenaline not helping him regain his normal rate of breathing. Panic began to settle in, and not just because of the feeling of nearly suffocating that accompanied his usual attacks.  
“Hey, lil’ fairy,” the man slurred, clearly drunk. He was now standing up but wasn’t approaching yet, “Just the sighta me gotsha breathin’ heavy? Think how much you’ll be puffin’ with a mouthful of me, yeah?”  
Steve shuddered in disgust and terror, trying to stand, but the pain in his chest sent him back down against the wall.  
“You’d like that wouldn’t ya?” the man continued, accompanied with dark laughs that were a sharp, rough staccato, “Who’s that jacket belong to, eh? Too big for ya, ain’t it? A present from your little fairy boyfriend? But he ain’t here tonight, is he?”  
Steve was too scared to even blush at the man’s vulgar language. Not again. And the man was right. Bucky wasn’t here this time. He had lost his...friend...in the crowd.  
He slid down the wall, wheezing and coughing, spasming as he tried to calm his erratic breathing, and the man neared. Raw fear took Steve’s lungs into a further stage of self destruction, and he thought for sure he would die. He felt his legs completely give out on him, landing hard on the cobblestone.  
Then, all of a sudden, Bucky was there again, somehow.  
“Oh God, Steve, the hell?” he cried when he spotted Steve collapsed on the ground.  
“Language,” Steve managed to rasp out, before descending into another fit of gasping coughs.  
Bucky propped him upright like Steve’s mama had taught him to, holding Steve to his chest, a hand on his back.  
“Breathe, Stevie, breathe. Come on, punk, you can do it. Breathe with me. In...2...3...”  
Steve inhaled shakily, coughing some more in the process.  
“Out...2...3...” Bucky said in the soft but insistent voice that he reserved solely for asthma attacks, and for a while after Steve’s mom had passed on, like he thought Steve was so fragile that would shatter if he talked too loud.  
“Hey, focus,” Bucky called his mind from the past. He realized he had been breathing faster again.  
Steve felt his breathe slowing at last, the smooth, deep voice of the man holding him calming him even though he knew he shouldn’t be liking being held like this. It was just wrong, unnatural...ungodly even.  
“In...2...3...” Bucky continued, “Out...2...3...That’s it.”  
Steve finally was breathing normally again, and now he was entirely focused on the warm, firm body supporting him, and the big hand resting on his spine. His breathing nearly hitched again, but he was able to hide it, and finally Bucky pulled him back to his feet and stepped back, “You okay?”  
“Yeah, thanks,” Steve stuttered, feeling himself going red again.  
“Hey, why’d ya run off like that?” Bucky frowned, “Near gave me a heart attack.”  
“I...I just.”  
“What he means to say is that yours is terrible, and he prefers mine. I can’t argue, even a prick-suckin’ fairy’s got a right to have good taste, and even a big guy like you ain’t going to stop me from giving a hard-working slut what he wants, eh?”  
Steve's face contorted, half from embarrassment and half from outrage. Bucky whirled around to face the smirking drunk, barely even looking as he swung with practiced precision and slugged him right in the face. The man’s nose shattered in a spray of blood and he fell to the ground, his head hitting the cobblestone with a sickening crunch.  
“Jesus, Buck, you’ve killed him!!!” Steve cried, horrified and nauseated.  
Bucky looked just as stunned, leaning down quickly and trying to find a pulse. He sighed in relief when he found one, turning to Steve with the first look of fear he had seen on him since...ever.  
“We’ve gotta get him to the hospital, scum or no,” Bucky said, “You’re the smart one here, what do I do? Should we carry him to help, ice, what?”  
“If...um...if they've got a bad concussion or a cracked skull,” Steve muttered, and then he felt a sudden surge of confidence, “Don’t move him yet, don’t touch him other than to make sure he’s still breathing and has a pulse. I’m going to get help.”  
Thirty minutes later, they found themselves sitting in the police station, waiting to be questioned.  
“When the officers arrived at the scene, you said you hit this man... is that correct?” the redhead with expressive green eyes asked. He looked concerned and pitying. Steve wrung his hands, hoping he wasn’t about to go into another asthma attack. Or about to pass out from the stress, like he sometimes did with his pernicious anemia.  
“Yes,” Bucky sighed, “I punched him in the face.”  
“You do realize, Mr. Barnes, that any information you divulge right now can and will be used against you? It’s in the fifth amendment. You have the right to remain silent. They don’t always tell you that, but I think they ought to.”  
“Thanks,” Bucky put his head in his hands, “But it’s not like I’m going to change my story. I got mad and punched the guy in the face, his head hit the ground, plain and simple.”  
“It’s never just simple. If you do feel like divulging, it would be nice to hear what led up to the hit.”  
“We were at Coney Island, had been all day. Steve here ran off after riding the Ferris wheel around eight, I think. I don’t know why though,” Bucky said, turning to Steve for help, “I followed him but I almost lost him. As it was, I got way behind. Steve’s good at slipping through crowds—me, not so much.”  
Steve blushed yet again, “I just...I’m so sorry, I just felt sick and wanted to go home.”  
Bucky nodded, looking confused, but was quiet, apparently waiting for Steve to continue the story.  
“I um...I took a back route to get to the bus stop, to get out of the crowds, and I had been moving fast, and I stopped for a minute to get a breath,” Steve explained shakily.  
“Let me get this right,” the policeman said as he scribbled meticulously, “You two were at Coney Island, and this man here, Steve...”  
“Rogers,” he supplied.  
“...Steve Rogers left because he felt sick, and took a back alley to get home. He ran short of breath in the alley and...”  
“Hold it right there,” Bucky interrupted, “When Steve says ran short of breath, that’s not the whole picture. I found him in the middle of an asthma attack, the mug I ended up socking approaching him. The goon stood back while I helped Steve get his breath back, but made a move right after.”  
“So Mr. Rogers had an asthma attack, and you found him in the alley in the midst of this, with a man approaching him, and after you aided him, the man made a move. Could you specify what made a move means?”  
“He called Steve a fairy, threatened to rape him, said I couldn’t stop him, and I got so mad I punched the bastard harder than I meant to. That’s all there is to it.” Bucky spat, somewhat irritated now that the officer was on the telephone and not appearing to pay attention.  
“That’s quite a tale you have there, sons,” the officer commented, “That’s right. Yes, thank you, I will tell them now.”  
He set down the phone, “I’m going to let you off easy this time, sons. Turns out, the man had a history of arrest for public intoxication and harassment. You gave him a broken nose and a whopper of a concussion, but he’s going to be alright.”

“Oh, thank God,” Steve breathed, and Bucky muttered confusedly, “What was that about letting us off?”

The policeman smiled, “You don’t exactly look like you’re lookin’ to go to court over this. So, considering he was already on probation and you have a witness to the harassment, he’ll probably be quite thankful if you just let it slide.”

They stared, and the police officer leaned forward, giving them a confidential look, “And just my opinion, but he probably deserved to get some sense knocked into him.”  
“You’re...we’re not...” Steve let his breath out in a shaky sigh.  
“I’ll make sure no questions are asked. Self defense, as simple as that.”  
“You can really just...let us off like that?” Steve asked, feeling like this was surely a breach of law.  
“Well, son, I am the Chief of Police in this precinct, after all,” was the man’s answer, and they got a hint of a smile, “Just take care next time, avoid back alleys, and a word of advice, Mr. Barnes. If you’re mad and feel like you’ve gotta swing, go for the stomach instead. Safer bet, and feels better on the hand anyways.”  
Bucky nodded solemnly and looked down at his hand instinctively, wringing it out like he had suddenly realized how much it was hurting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's 'Steve Radar' is pinging...Bucky whips his head around, looking about himself...  
> *le gasp*  
> "Steve is in danger! MUST SAVE STEEEEVE!!!"  
> *runs halfway across Brooklyn to find Steve in some random back alley*


	2. Even When I Had Nothing, I Had Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve recalls memories of Bucky over the years

_—==July 27th–August 5th==—_  
  
Several weeks later, Steve barely recalled the debacle with the police after Bucky had hit the guy in the alley, but he certainly remembered what led up to the punch. The tension in the tiny Ferris wheel car that had caused him to flee in the first place ever remained on the front of his mind. The assumption of him being a fairy from the stumbling drunk played over and over in his head. It was not the first time he had heard such an accusation, but certainly the first time that he had wondered if it maybe...just might be true.

It made sense that he would feel this way, despite it going against everything he had been taught. He couldn’t even list all the many things that Bucky had done for him over the years. They were as close as brothers, now, and Steve was probably just getting confused by all the gentle kindnesses Bucky had shown him since his mother’s death almost three years ago. Steve still remembered the words Bucky had spoken to him the day after his mom’s funeral as clear as day...

He had been a fool, trying to drive Bucky away, and Bucky had reminded him that he didn’t have to do it alone. The older man had pulled out his spare key when Steve couldn’t find his, smirking slightly.

“Thank you, Buck,” Steve had said, “But I can get by on my own.”

“Thing is, you don’t have to,” Bucky said meaningfully, gripping his shoulder and looking into his eyes, “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, pal.”

And so far, he had been true to his word. Bucky had always been there for him... _with_ him. He had been since that day he saved him from the bullies on the playground at Fairview Primary School all those many years ago. And just like that, Steve was thrown back into the past as he fondly remembered the many memories he shared with his best friend.

When they had first met that day on the playground in 1927, Steve was a scrawny, sickly eight-year-old nobody in the 3rd grade, still recovering from a bout of rheumatoid fever that spring. Bucky, on the other hand, was an easygoing, jocular eleven-year-old in the sixth grade, and already the most popular kid in the school. That day, a group of bullies had shoved him all the way up to the small fence between the younger and older kid sections of the playground. They were all in the 5th grade, and were much, much larger than Steve, who stood at about 3’4” at the time. This petty torment wasn’t anything new. The same group had been coming over to the younger kid’s side and picking on Steve on a regular basis since he had first started coming to school. This time, the biggest of the bullies kneed him in the gut hard enough that Steve doubled over wheezing. He felt an asthma attack coming on and did his best to suppress it as he hauled himself upright once again and looked into their eyes defiantly, panting out, “I could do this all day.” One of the bullies shoved him back down roughly, and then...

“Hey!” came a irritated voice from the other side of the fence, “What the actual hell are you guys doin’?”

The bullies looked up to see the angry face of one James Buchanan Barnes.

“Seriously, John?” Bucky had asked one of the bullies, eyes flaring with strange anger for Steve. Steve had never been more confused in his life. Was a 6th grader really standing up for _him_? The frail, pathetic, barely-living shrimp that was Steve Rogers?

“Bucky Barnes?” the now-named bully asked, eyes wide, frantically scrambling to cover his mistake. “Look. This fella totally deserved it.”

“Oh, right,” Bucky had rolled his eyes dramatically, “I saw you stealing his lunch yesterday. And the day before. I guess he deserved that too?”

“Look, we’re sorry. We won’t take his lunch no more,” another one of the bullies spluttered, and when Bucky raised his fist menacingly from the other side of the fence, the three of them dashed off without another word.

“Go chase yourselves,” Bucky hollered after them.

Bucky then hopped the short picket fence in one swift motion and held out his hand to Steve, and Steve could still very clearly remember the half-grin on his face at the time, “You’ve got spunk, kid.”

Steve took the extended hand tentatively, and the older kid hauled him to his feet.

“They still got your lunch, didn’t they?” Bucky noted, with a frown.

“Not all of it,” Steve had grinned, picking up the paper-wrapped sandwich the bullies had tossed to the ground nearby, “I learned that they don’t take my sandwiches if I put a dab of vinegar in ‘em.”

Bucky made a face, “How long have you been doin’ that for?”

Steve snorted, “End of first grade. Nothin’ new, really.”

Bucky stared, and then seemingly came to a conclusion, whipping out his own paper bag with his lunch, “How would ya like to make a trade. One big ol’ homemade meat sandwich for one of those whacky vinegar and spam on a biscuit dinguses you’re callin’ a sandwich.”

Steve’s eyes went wide as Bucky offered up a much larger parcel, spluttering, “No, really, s’fine. I’m used to ‘em now.”

“C’mon, let’s shake on it. Gimme your paw,” Bucky took his hand and pumped it vigorously, “Good deal…” he paused.

“Steve,” Steve supplied, “Steve Rogers.”

“Good deal, Steve Rogers,” Bucky finished, yanking Steve’s tiny sandwich from his hands and replacing it with his own.

Steve sighed, watching as Bucky unwrapped Steve’s sandwich and took a bite. He chewed slowly, making a slightly-disgusted face, and after he swallowed, he muttered, “Well, I can see why they leave it behind, now.”

Steve huffed, “You’re the twit that stole my _vinegar_ sandwich. I don’t mind ‘em anymore, I said.”

“Shut your trap and eat my sandwich already, ya little punk,” Bucky said, “You look like you don’t weigh more than a paperweight, and I can see why.”

“Oh leave off, jerk,” Steve found himself replying good-naturedly. And so it began.

It had been much the same throughout the years, with Bucky always arriving just in time to save him from bullies or other nasty situations. Steve would get himself hurt trying to protect people or just defend himself.

Bucky would sometimes have to drag him away from the fight he’d picked with a group of goons twice his size, ’cause they were skulking in back alleys hoping to catch some young folks dumb enough to cut through there and take their spare change. Oh, those kinds of folks just made Steve so mad! Bucky would pull him home by the back of his shirt, and tend to his cuts and bruises from the scrabble.

Bucky had always taken care of Steve like that, helping him through regular asthma attacks or nursing him through chronic colds that lasted on-and-off through the entirety of the winter months. Steve could still remember one of his worst near-death experiences in October of 1931— just another instance where Bucky had saved his pathetic life. He was only thirteen at the time, but a bit too much running around town with Bucky after the fifteen-year-old got done with helping his uncle out at work, and the exertion took a toll on his heart. His cardiac arrhythmia suddenly had turned into a full blown heart attack. With no one else around, Bucky had responded exactly how Steve’s ma had taught him to do, giving Steve CPR for two solid minutes before Steve’s heart suddenly decided it was going to keep pumping. Steve had been able to walk home, relatively unscathed, and his mama had gushed over Bucky for at least two weeks afterward. The thought of Sarah Rogers brought the prickle of tears to his eyes.

Then there was the time when he got the flu something awful. It was January of 1937, and he was living on his own in his apartment after his mama had passed. That was probably the closest he had ever come to dying, Bucky had told him. For two weeks, he remembered very little other than immense heat, and then crazy bouts where he would feel so cold that no blanket could keep him warm, and yet he was very clearly still burning alive with fever as he tossed and turned in his sweat-soaked sheets. He remembered Bucky’s soothing hands, and gentle ice baths, and a fever dream where he saw his ma again, but she was strong and healthy instead of frail and coughing from tuberculosis. He had liked that dream.

He had eventually realized at some point over the years that Bucky would do literally anything for him. He didn’t understand why, but nothing seemed to change that fact. The easygoing, charismatic eldest member of the Barnes family was in his life at all times, taking care of Steve and always trying to make him laugh and smile. Sometimes he took it a little too far, in Steve’s opinion. Like the day he decided that Steve was going to art school.

“What’s that, Buck?” Steve remembered asking, walking into their kitchen and finding Bucky with a large parcel. It was his birthday, 1938. Bucky had grinned and held it up, beaming like the sun, “It’s for you, pal.”

Steve smiled, “Oh, Buck, you shouldn’t have…”

“You’re going to need it, though” Bucky said mysteriously, smirking a little.

Steve tilted his head a bit, puzzled, and accepted the present. He gasped when he tore back the paper to find a pack of dozens of expensive drawing pencils of every hardness, a neatly packaged set of dark charcoals, tortillons, and erasers, and a brand new sketchbook.

He looked up with wide eyes and a slack jaw to a beaming Bucky, “How much…”

“Not too much for you, Steve,” Bucky had grinned, thumping him on the back lightly, “I’ve been saving for a long time. And like I said, you’re going to need it.”

“Need it?” Steve asked, brow creasing, “What are you talking about?”

“Because,” Bucky had said, slowly, dramatically, “You, my little future artist, are going to Auburndale Art School.”

Steve nearly dropped the package.

Finally, he found words, he found his voice, spluttering out, “Bucky! Are you crazy?!”

Bucky shook his head, “Nope.”

“You know we can’t afford that, Buck! I know I was accepted, but that doesn’t mean you…”

“I can work long hours. We’ll figure it out,” Bucky insisted.

“Bucky, you are NOT going to use your meager dock salary and work yourself until you collapse just to send ME to art school. Think a little!” Steve cried in exasperation.

“I already gave it plenty of thought. I want to do this, and you’re not gonna convince me otherwise,” Bucky argued back, resolve firm and unyielding.

Steve just stood there with his mouth half-open, looking for something to say, a way to tell Bucky that this simply wasn’t necessary or prudent, until Bucky rolled his eyes, grinning, “Oh stop runnin’ your head and give it up, punk. You’re goin’ to art school, and that’s final!”

Steve took a deep breath, realizing it was pointless to argue with the brick wall that was Bucky. He couldn’t help but let the smile come to his face when he thought of actually doing what he had dreamed about for years. He could go to art school, and with luck, get a job with a newspaper doing illustrations and comics. Bucky saw it and his own smile went wider than Steve thought possible, “Now there’s that smile I was hopin’ for.”

Steve’s bewildered smile grew wider at that, and he finally gave in to the joy that was bubbling up in his chest. Suddenly, he was crying and laughing and hugging Bucky all at once, “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you, Buck…”

“Anything for you, punk,” Bucky had murmured, holding Steve close for a brief moment, almost like a lover. Even at the time, Steve hadn’t wanted him to let go.


	3. Feelings Drivin' Me Crazy

Steve shook himself out of the memories, thinking hard. It was obvious right? This all had an reasonable explanation. He was feeling the wrong feelings for Bucky because he was just confused by all of these selfless acts of kindness shown to him by his lifelong friend. Bucky didn’t mean anything else by them.

Except, the problem was, despite laying it all out rationally like that, he couldn’t banish the feelings that had suddenly taken over his life.  
He found himself avoiding Bucky at all costs, determined to not let his conflicting feelings show to the man. Just what the guy needed before he applied for a job at the radio factory. A pathetic little sickly man who he thought was just his friend, confessing that he might want to be more than friends. Maybe, if he gave it a little time, the absurd thoughts would fade, and he would realize that it was just a stupid phase he was going through. He was probably just hormonal or something, based on what he had read in one of his ma’s old medical textbooks.  
But then, after picking up his sketchbook to relieve some stress one day after his art classes, he found his charcoal ground to a nub, and looked down to see a highly detailed portrait of Bucky’s face.

Not Bucky doing something, or Bucky because he was the only remotely interesting person or thing in the room... just Bucky’s charming visage etched out onto the paper and staring up at him from the page with hauntingly realistic eyes. He was pretty sure if he held it up beside Bucky’s face, it would match almost perfectly, minus the color. And he had drawn this half-unconsciously, and entirely from his head. Curse his eidetic memory.  
He needed to see a doctor, because there was definitely something wrong with his brain.

  
He flipped back a page to escape from the face staring up at him, and found himself looking at a rough sketch of Coney Island, the Ferris wheel the most prominent thing in the picture, and he immediately felt sick. He turned back to a random page, and found yet another sketch of Bucky, this time wearing a old top hat he had found abandoned on the side of the road and grinning like a idiot. And then another of Bucky, this one probably one of his best drawings. He had paid careful attention to every single detail of Bucky's visage—had done a couple of quick studies beforehand too. Not that he needed a reference to draw Bucky anymore... He knew the curve of Bucky's jaw, the shape of his lips, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes...knew them all like the back of his hand. Knew exactly how Bucky looked when he quirked up his lip in a playful smirk. Knew how to draw Bucky from any angle or in any lighting.

  
He riffled through the pages, becoming more and more panicked. Practically every other doodle and sketch had Bucky in it: Bucky sleeping, eating, reading, wearing a new coat, penning a letter. There was even one of Bucky on the docks on a hot summer’s day without a shirt, doodled on a little sheet of notebook paper tucked in the front of the sketchbook. It wasn't a great drawing. He hadn't had much time to spend on it, clearly, and he wasn't nearly as good of an artist as he was now.

Steve blinked, hardly even remembering having drawn that one...it verged on inappropriate, showing off Bucky’s toned muscles of his stomach and it was dated quite a while back...just how long had he been infatuated with his best friend’s body without realizing it?! He was stunned and shocked at how much he drew the man, and he tried to reason that it was only because he hung out around him a lot, that he just drew Bucky like he drew everything in his life, but he knew that he was just fooling himself. He loved to draw Bucky; he felt the most calm when sketching his friend’s familiar features.  
He knew he was in love, and had been for a long time. In love with a man. In love with a man who was most certainly straight and just wanted to be friends. Enraged, he threw the accursed sketchbook on the floor.

  
In a daze, he found himself looking for a friend he hadn’t consulted in a long time. He would like to be able to say that he had to look for a while, but he still knew exactly where the old stuffed creature was, nestled in a pile of blankets in the left corner of a tiny hall closet. As a man over the age of twenty, he was ashamed to admit that it had been only been a few years since he had last fallen asleep clutching the teddy bear that bore the name of his best friend.  
And so, he found himself hugging ‘Bucky Bear’ once more. It was just mass-produced teddy that Bucky had won for him at Coney Island back when they were younger. It had been given the stereotypical name of ‘Bernie Bear.’ He had renamed it, of course. Bucky had thought that it was hilarious that his name had been given to an inanimate stuffed bear, and had actually hauled it around for quite a while after they had gotten it, for reasons unbeknownst to Steve. It always seemed to be somewhere lying around his ma's apartment (now his apartment) back when they were teenagers.

Over the years, it had worn ragged, with a little blue button replacing a missing eye and a patch covering a tear in its side, but it held a treasure trove of memories that always sent Steve’s mind to a special place whenever he held the thing. 

  
“Hey,” Steve said, feeling stupid and childish as he held the bear and proceeded to tell it all his worries, secrets, and wishes.  
“I got these feelings drivin’ me crazy. I wish I could tell him how I feel, but I couldn’t stand the disappointment in his eyes,” Steve sighed, “I wish he felt the same....way....actually no...no I don’t. He can have any doll he wants; he’s a true lady’s man. He deserves to find a nice gal an’ settle down. He doesn’t need the clingy mess that’s me, for sure. Even if he felt the same way, which would be ridiculous...I wouldn’t wanna do that to him...He’s got it all, and if word got round that he was...God, his reputation would be ruined!” Steve shuddered, “I’m a ridiculous fool, ain’t I? Why can’t I just be normal, fall in love with a gal like he could?”  
The bear didn’t respond, obviously, but Steve still felt relieved when he finally confessed his true feelings out loud, “I’m in love with him, ya know. I’m hopelessly in love, an’ it shouldn’t feel so right, but I can’t help it. I can’t control my emotions any more, and it’s scarin’ me ‘cause sometimes I think he knows what I’m thinkin’.”  
He felt a bit more relaxed once he finished spewing all the held back information at the lifeless fabric, and he let out a sigh, “I’m gonna have to tell him some day, if I don’t stop having these thoughts. He keeps trying to get dates for me, and I just...they don’t appeal to me. I'm just jealous of the ones he got for himself, like I wanna be in their place or something crazy of the sort. I only want him, an’ he deserves to know that I’m mostly thinkin’ bad thoughts when he’s just friendly touchin’ and stuff. No man, especially not the guy he trusts, should be thinkin’ those thoughts about him, an’ I am. But I don’t wanna make him leave, either.”  
He grew tired of his one sided conversation with the bear, and then he found himself looking up at the white painted boards of the apartment ceiling and praying to God for an answer, a sign that he was going to Hell for sure, that he was a terrible sinner, but nothing was popping up. He finally fell silent, burying his face in the soft fur of the bear. Upon inhaling, he discovered that somehow, impossibly, there was still the faint scent of his mom’s strong laundry detergent from the last time it was washed, and it was enough to send him over the edge. He cried himself empty of tears and finally fell into a restless sleep, hugging his beloved Bucky Bear close and sorely wishing that he could do the same with the real Bucky.

_—==August 5th-September 21st==—_  
  
The weeks passed by slower than they had ever, every day a struggle to get by even with President Roosevelt’s economic boosters. Steve finally resigned himself to the fact that Bucky was out of reach, even though he was living in the same apartment as him. The most frustrating aspect was that Bucky was sleeping beside Steve, had been since another dip in the never-ending depression in 1938 had drove them to trade off almost everything they owned just to get food...including his mama’s bed and the spare. Now they were bunked in the same bed like they had done as little kids. Steve’s tiny twin bed was by no means large enough for the both of them, and they always woke up in a tangled pile of limbs, but it was either that or no sugar, coffee, or pencils for Steve’s newspaper artist hitch for several months, and they figured that in the winter, they could keep each other warm.

In his frustration he found himself picking more and more fights that he knew he couldn’t win. They were no longer just about honor, having become a way of relieving stress for him. Bucky, on the other hand, became more agitated the more black eyes and purplish bruises Steve came home with, and Steve tried not to enjoy it when his friend patched him up, his touches absurdly gentle like he was mending cracked porcelain. One day, when he came home with a split lip and a large gash on his forehead from when he was shoved and hit his head on a railing, Bucky went off.  
“Ya gotta stop doing this, Steve,” he growled as he stitched up Steve’s forehead with the supplies left over from his ma’s first aid kit, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but it’s gettin’ ridiculous. You’re pickin’ fights left n’ right now, an’ it’s gonna fucking get you killed. It’s a fuckin’ miracle you don’t have any broken bones.”  
“Languish...” he slurred over his busted lip, hissing as Bucky jabbed too deep with the needle.  
“Don’t backtalk me, Rogers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Steve... :(


	4. Dying Slowly on the Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell from the title, this is another chapter of Steve in mental agony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that is playing when they dance: https://playback.fm/charts/top-100-songs/video/1936/Tommy-Dorsey-Im-getting-sentimental-over-you

_—==September 22nd-October 8th==—_

  
Bucky was one to talk though. When his work at the docks became straining, and money began to really run low, he’d pass by the pub and get smoked, sometimes even coming back with a gal. Steve would be forced to listen to their moans through the poorly insulated walls, and he burned with jealousy, but more often they were leaving, insulted by Bucky’s drunken slurring. Bucky was becoming more and more of a loose cannon, and frankly it scared Steve more than the thought of his own death at the hands of random goons in back alleys.  
Finally, Bucky got a promotion down at the docks, and things started looking brighter. He hadn’t gotten that job he wanted at the radio factory when he applied, they had too many people, so he had really needed this.  
“Just you wait. I’m gonna buy you the best set of pencils that money can buy, soon’s I get my next paycheck.”  
“Aw, Buck. You don’t need to do that.” Steve went red, “Spend it on something’ nice for yourself.”  
“I can’t think of anything that I want right now,” Bucky grinned , “So pencils it is...”  
Steve grinned bashfully as he scrubbed their dinner dishes. He still had his mom’s beloved porcelain set. It was one of the few nice things that he had been able to keep during the Depression. They weren’t worth that much anyhow, with their chips and cracks.

  
“What’s the use of beautiful porcelain, sitting in a cabinet gathering dust?” his mom had asked, setting out their dinner on the set a well-off friend had just gifted her on her birthday. Steve remembered grinning widely and treating the dishes extra careful that night when he cleaned them.

  
“Hey, Punk, in the past again?” Buck asked, put his hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve chuckled awkwardly, “Yeah, guess I was.”  
“Whatcha been doin’ lately? Haven’t been seeing you around much, now that I’m getting home late and all.”  
“Drawing, mostly. School’s going great...I can’t thank you enough for that.”  
Bucky grinned and ruffled his hair, and Steve was sure he was flushing again. He yawned, and Buck followed. Then they were both laughing, and Steve felt a warm happy glow. This was home. If Bucky ever left, he didn’t know what he would do.  
“Looks like that class is wearing you out. You’re beat most times when I get home.”  
“Yeah, but you get home late.”  
“Just ten...”  
“That’s late for me. You know I’m the early type.”  
Bucky chuckled, “Well, you need your sleep. Lots of drawin’ to do in the mornin’. Why don’t you hit the bed and I’ll finish these up for ya?”  
“I’m good, really. You’ve been workin’ at the dock all day, you probably need rest more than me.”  
“You and your self-sacrifice,” Bucky huffed, snatching the dish gently from his hand and physically steering him out of the room, “Scram.”  
“Buc-ky” Steve protested but he headed for the bedroom anyways.

_—==October 23rd-October 27th==—_  
  
Two weeks later, Bucky got laid off. He hadn’t been slacking or nothin’, they just didn’t need as many guys loading boats, it seemed. Steve wasn’t exactly sure what the reason was, but it was certainly a shock.  
It was a miracle, then, when Bucky was accepted for a job at the radio factory out of the blue, after three stressful days of uncertainty. Crazy depression...  
“Thank the Lord!” Steve cried. Bucky had told him as soon as he opened the door, and Steve was now grinning from ear to ear.  
“Yeah,” Bucky said breathlessly, “That was real lucky.”  
Bucky gave him an odd look for a moment, and then grinning back, he chuckled mischievously, “Go to the living room and I’ll show you something.” Steve noticed that both of his hands were behind his back.  
Steve obeyed, and Bucky waltzed in after him.  
“Whatcha got there?” Steve asked curiously, rocking on his heels.  
Bucky whipped out something large wrapped in crinkly brown paper, and handed it to Steve with a flourish, “Go on, open her up and see.”  
Steve laughed a little, “Did you buy me more art supplies? Goodness gracious, it’s heavy...”  
“Nah, better.” Buck said and Steve unwrapped the gift eagerly. He gasped when he exposed a sleek, mahogany radio.  
“Aw, Buck! Goodness, how much was this?” he cried, stunned as he ran his fingers over the grooves of the beautiful device. It was a very recent model, 1937 if Steve remembered correctly from the advertisements.  
“Not too much at all,” Buck grinned, “Employee’s rate.”  
Steve smiled, taking the precious gift and setting it up by their lone grey sofa. Bucky hooked it up, and Steve turned the little dial that Bucky told him was for the sound. Static crackled for a moment as Bucky adjusted the rotary dial, and then a familiar soft tune began playing. Bucky swayed a little, tapping a foot, before beckoning to Steve.  
“C’mere, ace, it’s time you learn how to slow dance.”  
Steve’s ears burned, and he coughed awkwardly, “Aw Buck. You know I’m a cement mixer when it comes to dancin’.”  
“Oh, slow dancin’ the easiest,” Bucky insisted.

“Oh, sure,” Steve laughed.

“Gotta be able to woo the ladies somehow or other. There’s always time to learn somethin’ new.”  
Steve sighed and let Bucky take his hands and pull him through some simple moves. He was indeed awkward, stepping on Bucky’s toes more often than he did on the floor, but the older man didn’t complain. He tried not to enjoy the soft swaying to the thrumming tune.  
“And a one, and a two,” Bucky said, suddenly spinning him, and Steve hooted, “You’re a scandal, Buck...it’s no wonder the ladies can’t stand ya.”  
“Can’t stand me, huh?” Buck waggled his eyebrows, “I’ll have you know that I’m the most wanted man in this town.”  
“Oh, sure you are, Buck. The ladies do love a scandal.”  
Bucky shrugged at that, “Can’t be someone who I’m not.”  
Bucky’s face was close enough to his that Steve could feel his hot breath. Steve became all too aware of the large hand on his hip, and the other encasing his own small fingers. He resisted the horrifying urge to lean forward just a little and kiss Bucky right then and there. Oh God. What was wrong with him? Bucky was not trying to make this anything more than a little dance lesson. He wasn’t really a scandal, Steve knew. Sure, he went out with a lot of women, but unless he was drunk, he almost always treated them like the gentleman he was. He was just trying to give Steve the skills to be able to be attractive to women too. He was probably fighting a losing battle in that respect, especially since Steve...didn’t really want women. He wanted Bucky. He was crazy. Bucky smelled of musky cologne and he was still wearing his jacket...the one he had draped over Steve’s shoulders that night on the Ferris wheel. His breathing hitched a little, and he tried to remain calm, but his asthma had other plans.

“Oh hell, Steve!” Buck cried when he started wheezing and coughing, “Where’d this one come from? Come on, pal, just breathe. That’s it.” Steve thankfully got his breathing under control quickly this time, since exertion hadn’t been the cause. He cursed himself in his head. Why did he have to do this to himself? To Bucky? The poor man had no idea. He gasped a little, leaning against the counter. The other man still looked worried.  
“I’m okay, Bucky.” Steve reassured him.  
“You sure?” Bucky asked.  
“Yeah, really, I am.”  
Bucky shut off the radio, looking kind of sad, “Well, that’s probably enough for tonight. I’m going to head to bed, anyway.

“Night, Buck,” Steve said.

“Oh, and I brought some dinner from the diner in case you hadn’t eaten yet,” Bucky added.  
“I already had a little something. I wasn’t expecting you to be back so late, but now that I know why,” he smiled, large and genuine, “Congratulations on the job...and thank you for the radio, too.”  
“Of course.”

_—==October 9th-April 19th, 1940==—_

  
And so, the radio became a norm in the mornings, and they got to listen to music and the news on a regular basis. Another bonus of the job was that Bucky was getting home in time for dinner most nights. And, not to mention, they had more money, so a huge load of stress was taken off their backs. It was all around a blessing.

Unfortunately, Steve still couldn’t shake the annoying longing for his lifelong friend. It was getting to be ridiculous. He just couldn’t stop thinking bad thoughts about Buck, and he was half sure he was losing it.  
He woke up with his head lying on Bucky’s chest one morning, and quickly moved away, thankful that Buck hadn’t woken before he had, and he knew his cheeks were burning. But heat was coursing through his body now, and it was hard to fall back asleep.  
He shuddered at the slightest touch, and blushed more than he had ever done around his friend. The stupidest comment had him flushed red and breathing heavily. He began wondering if he was sick. And when he did get sick over the winter months as he normally did, he hated it when Bucky would nurse him through it, despising the fluttering feelings in his chest when Bucky brought him soup or wrapped him in a warm blanket.  
“Is...something wrong?” Bucky asked, more than once, and Steve huffed, “No, it’s nothing, really.” Bucky didn’t look convinced, though.  
He sobbed alone in bed during the day more than once. Drawing ceased to take his mind off his problems. He got himself beat up some more in back alleys, and went to bed early some nights, just so he’d be asleep when Bucky finally crawled into bed quietly so as to not disturb him. He didn’t want Bucky to see his bruises, or to talk to him in that sweet, soft voice.  
He felt so frustrated and confused, and utterly lost. What was he to do? Confess that he was a freak? Drive Bucky away? Or just keep living like this, dying slowly on the inside as the weeks turned into months and the months turned into years?


	5. I've Always Known it was You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finally confesses

_—==April 20th, 1940==—_

  
“Steve,” Bucky muttered one night when they had both just crashed into bed early, straight after dinner. Hadn't even bothered to take off their work clothes or anything, yet. Steve reasoned that he would get in his bedclothes in a bit, but for now, he was just so very comfortable, and Bucky didn't seem to want to move either. It was spring once again—they had made it through another bitter winter, and were in the beautiful, pleasant weather of the mild season at last. The room was just the right temperature, without the heater or anything. Steve smiled lazily, “Yeah?”  
“Somethin’ been bothering you lately?”  
“No,” Steve whispered, smile disappearing, but his voice didn’t even sound convincing to himself, “Why?”  
“You’ve seemed upset for quite a while now, and you won’t tell me why,” Bucky muttered, “Somethin’ didn’t happen at Auburndale, did it?”  
“No, no, that’s not it...I just...I dunno.”  
“Well, lemme know when you figure it out, okay?” Bucky sighed touching a hand on Steve’s side as if to soothe him. But Steve’s body took it as something else entirely, and he shivered in revulsion at the thoughts flooding through his head.  
Then it was like he couldn’t get enough air again.  
Bucky cursed again, and he sat him upright and helped him through yet another asthma attack. That was four times now, just because Bucky had...touched him. He was self destructing. This had to end.

He couldn’t live like this...maybe if they got separate beds? They could most likely afford it now. Gosh, they probably could have afforded it a while ago.  
But Steve knew he was just fooling himself. The longing for Bucky wasn’t just going to go away. It had been there for months now, and it was only getting stronger.  
“You okay? Is it over?” Bucky asked, as the horrible feeling passed. Steve nearly sent himself into another attack, thinking about what he was about to do.  
He had to tell him. It was wrong not to.  
“Buck...” he whispered, “I...I can’t,”  
“Can’t what?” Bucky asked, confusion evident in his tone.  
“Can’t...I don’t...I just...oh God, Buck, it’s wrong of me. I just don’t want you to hate me, or to move out.”  
He turned around to face Bucky, to try to gauge his reaction. Bucky was looking at him with confusion and hurt on his face already.  
“Stevie, I’m not going to leave, not for anything, unless you want me to of course. Hell, what’dya do that was so bad?”  
“It’s not something I did...it’s just who I am. Buck, I don’t think I’m a normal man. I don’t want...want girls.”  
Bucky’s eyes went wide with shock, “You…what?!”  
Steve shut his eyes in dejection. He had been expecting that reaction. Why wouldn’t he be? That was the same thing any normal person would do. It was even more awkward like this, wasn’t it, when they were lying in bed together?  
He opened his eyes to see Bucky still staring at him in awe.  
Bucky shook his head, looking more startled than angry, “O..Okay....I’m assuming that means you want...guys?”  
Steve gulped, “Yeah...I guess...” His cheeks burned in shame, and he couldn’t bring himself to look in Bucky’s eyes.  
“Like who?” Bucky asked gently, “Steve, it’s okay. I don’t hate you because you’re a queer. You’re my best friend, always will be.”  
Steve shuddered, feeling like his heart was going to break. Bucky didn’t hate him...he wasn’t disgusted by that?  
But he didn’t know that Steve...  
“Even if I’m thinking of you as more than just...just a friend?” Steve spat in revulsion, hating how the words sounded on his lips.  
Silence.  
Then a low, soothing voice, and a hand suddenly cupping his cheek, “Stevie, look at me.”

  
He looked up tentatively, feeling the tears slipping from his eyes before he could stop them. Bucky was looking at him with awe...and something _else_.  
And then, without warning, Bucky’s lips were slammed against his own.  
What?!!  
This could not be happening. Was it happening?  
He was almost tempted to let him keep doing this, whatever this was, but he couldn’t. Why would Bucky...oh God, this was wrong.  
He gasped and beat at Bucky’s chest with his palms. Bucky pulled away, looking confused, “Steve?”  
“Bucky, stop! Stop, please! You don’t need to do this for...for me.”  
“Steve,” Bucky repeated, looking hurt, “I don’t care. I wanna.”  
“No you don’t! You aren’t a queer! You don’t need to do this to try to make me feel better, or...or because I’m pitiful. Please, stop!”  
He hadn’t been expecting Bucky to try to appease his internal monster. He was shocked and even madder at himself than before. Bucky had always been reckless, but this was just absurd. And this was his fault.  
Bucky glared at him now, “Shut up, punk.”  
“Buck!” Steve protested, “Think a little.”  
“I am thinking. Shut up, and let me kiss ya.”  
Steve stared in horror and confusion. Why was Bucky doing this?  
Bucky was moving in again, and Steve couldn’t help but let him, and then his friend whispered fiercely against his cheek, “Don’t ya get it Steve? I’m not doing anything out of pity. You’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”  
And then he was pressing their lips together again, with more passion than before. Heat flared in Steve’s stomach in the most peculiar way, and he shuddered, Bucky’s lips were supple and his chin was rough and slightly prickly. The larger man wrapped an arm about his neck, tilting his head as he kissed him with a fiery determination. He was pouring out his heart in all of its passion, all for a shrimp of a guy like Steve. Why? He couldn’t believe this was happening.  
Bucky...was kissing...him.  
And he wanted to. He wanted to do this. Bucky was no liar. He wouldn’t do that to Steve, or at least he hoped he wouldn’t.  
Was he in a dream? Was he still asleep?  
Bucky pulled away after a moment, staring at him with his dark brown eyes and Steve gulped for the air that he hadn’t been getting. He didn’t mind, though. He felt nowhere near an asthma attack. His emotions were surging and crashing, and his heart was pounding, but he wasn’t panicking. He vaguely felt happy tears slipping from his eyes.  
“You okay, Stevie?” Bucky whispered.  
Steve nodded weakly, a smile tugging at his cheeks.  
“You really...” Steve trailed off.  
“Yeah,” Bucky said, and swept his fingers through his unruly hair, “How long since you realized?”  
Steve sighed, “Since that night. Coney Island.”  
“Oh...Oh!” Bucky’s eyes widened and he laughed, “ _That_ explains things.”  
Steve laughed quietly along with him, “Yeah. I couldn’t believe what I was...well, what was going through my head when you gave me your jacket.”  
“Oh, Stevie,” Bucky sighed, “I wish you woulda told me then. I woulda kissed you right then and there, up there without a soul to see us.”  
Steve couldn’t help but stare, blinking rapidly. Bucky brushed the tears off his cheeks with a feather-light touch. He still was in shock and questioning. How could he not question it, even if he trusted Bucky with anything?  
But Bucky seemed ecstatic right now, like he had been waiting for this moment all along.  
“How long have you, um, been a queer?”  
“How long have I known that I loved you?” Bucky asked, giving a snort, “You were lucky, ya little punk, only having to wait a few months. I’ve known it was you since I was fourteen.”  
Steve's mouth fell agape and he couldn’t help but stare as the information sunk in.  
Fourteen. Suddenly, his mental agony seemed small and pathetic.  
He was a miserably pathetic human being. He was selfish, so selfish.  
Bucky had been feeling the way he did for over a decade.  
He couldn’t even imagine.

His hesitation melted away. Bucky wanted this, badly. Steve wanted it too. Why was he fightin’ it then?  
Steve gulped, and steeling himself, looked up at the older man nestled right up against him and caught his eye, “Kiss me, Buck.”  
Bucky’s smile was blinding, and then he was. His firm lips met Steve’s own, and the air felt electric. Steve had no idea what he was doing, but he wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck, and tried not to moan. Did people make noises while they were just kissing? He had no idea.  
Then Bucky was tugging at his lips, and Steve parted them, and Bucky was using his tongue inside of his mouth, and Steve couldn’t help but let out a noise, because a strange heat was growing in his stomach. He knew what it was, but he had never really felt it like this. Not but once or twice, and he just waited until it went away.  
He shut his eyes and let the intoxicating man above him explore his mouth, and lost himself in his familiar scent and the butterscotch taste on his tongue. He relaxed, as Bucky’s hands slid across his back and his arms enveloped him in a warm embrace.


	6. Call it a First Date

__

_—==April 21st==—_  
  
Steve didn’t even remember drifting off, but when he woke, Bucky’s arms were still wrapped around him.  
So he hadn’t dreamed it, right?  
Oh please let it not be a dream.  
“Buck?” Steve rasped, choking on his own voice. He was afraid, more than afraid that it had all been in his head.  
It was too perfect to be true...and he had woken up with Bucky hugging him before, like he was some pillow. That was one of the issues of sleeping in a twin bed together. Bucky was definitely a sleep hugger. It was a wonder they didn’t tumble out of bed more often too, but thankfully neither of them were kickers or tossers.  
Bucky’s eyes fluttered open, and he blinked lazily at Steve, “Oh. Mornin’.”  
“I uh...I’m going to go get dressed,” Steve blustered out, rolling out of bed quickly to escape Bucky’s arms.  
“You do that. I still have a while before my shift starts,” Bucky yawned, “You going to be around?”  
“I dunno, maybe for a half hour?” Steve said quietly.  
Bucky got a concerned expression on his face, “Steve, you okay? Are you regretting last night or somethin’?”  
Steve let out a small sigh of utter relief, and cracked a smile at his Bucky, “No. I was ‘fraid it was a dream.”  
Bucky chortled, getting that same relieved look on his face, “Nah. Too real for that. I was kind of wondering myself though. So, you’re okay with this then?”  
Steve nodded from the doorway, and ducked into the hall bathroom. Bucky didn’t follow. Steve looked at himself in the mirror. Stunted, scrawny, sickly. Skin on bones and all weird angles.  
Now, why would Bucky want him? Why would anyone want him, choose to be with him? Out of pity, maybe.  
No. Buck had said that wasn’t why.  
Bucky wanted him. This was real.  
He shut his eyes as he let the cold shower water pour on his back. He was too blissful to care much when he stubbed his toe on the cabinets.  
He felt alive again. Suddenly, he had all the air in the world to breathe. He was light as a feather.  
Steve trotted out into the hall to their single bedroom wrapped in a white towel, thinking Bucky would be downstairs eating breakfast by now. He did not expect to be intercepted in the hallway and given a chaste kiss on the cheek. He felt his cheeks grow warm.  
“Buck!” he protested, squirming, “I’m not dressed.”  
“I won’t mind,” Bucky waggled his eyebrows, and Steve tried to hide his sudden hitched breathing at the idea. He huffed and rolled his eyes, “...and I have to walk to work in eight minutes!”  
“Oh,” Bucky laughed, releasing him from his grip, “Well if that’s the case...”  
Steve rolled his eyes again, but he was grinning madly as he pulled on a worn-out set of casual dress clothes, crammed some of Bucky’s oatmeal in his mouth at lightning speed, and headed for the art school.  
  
Steve couldn’t get home fast enough, after being harassed while eating his lunch and drawing at his favorite café. Their words stung, but not like they might have last week or the week before that. It was actually a different group of guys this time, though he thought he recognized one of them.  
“Hey, scrawny, where ya headed?” a blonde in dock clothes asked as he stood up and pushed in his stool. Steve was gathering his stuffed sketchbook and charcoals, and carrying his leftover meal in a little paper bag. A pencil rolled off the table, and he dropped another trying to get it. By the time he emerged victorious with the art tools, he was quite ruffled. The group of four at the table next to him were cackling. He heard a muttered, “What an idiot,” from the one he recognized, Samuel.  
“Going to paint more pretty little landscapes with flowers and all the women he’s dreaming about but can’t get and the like, right?” another one guffawed.  
“I’ve never seen such a shrimp in my life,” the one near the torn-up poster advertisement said.  
“Get out!” a relatively-deep female voice bellowed suddenly, “Out!”  
The second demand was higher pitched, as the cafe owner came barreling out of the back.  
The group looked up, face to face suddenly with a blustering, red-cheeked round woman. Ms. Roxanne was a war widow and well into her sixties, but she was hearty, vivacious, and fiercely protective of Steve. She always brought him little treats and favors when he ate at her restaurant, a little café simply named ‘Roxie’s.’  
“What?” one of the bullies asked dumbly.  
“I will not have customers in my cafe harass a regular patron. Why, Sarah Rogers knew your mother, Samuel J. Greene. Your ma would be ashamed to see you treating her poor son like this,” she scolded.  
Samuel looked at the ground, “Sorry, Ms. Roxanne,” he muttered, looking more embarrassed about being called out than anything else.  
“Well, the apology is nice, but it’s due to Mr. Rogers here. Why don’t you look him in the face and tell him you’re sorry?” the stout woman clucked, “All of you, in fact.” From her stern voice, it was clear it was a demand, not a request. The men stared at her like she was a squawking bird annoying them. Their faces said they wanted to escape, but they didn’t know whether they could.  
“Sorry,” Samuel muttered at Steve, and stood to leave. Another one tried to follow, but Miss Roxanne grabbed his arm.  
“I haven’t heard the rest of you boys yet...” she cocked her head, glaring fiercely at them.  
“Oh, there’s no need, ma’am, I actually need to be going,” Steve blurted, hoping that she wasn’t going to try to extract an apology from all four men standing there, “They weren’t really buggin’ me all that much. And you’ve got a couple waiting for a table to be cleared. I would hate to hold you up.”  
She looked up, spotting the waiting customers and thumped him on the back merrily, “Well then, darling, thank you. Grab a honey roll off the tray on the way out and tell that Barnes I said hi. Bring him one too, if he’s there, yeah?”  
“Thank you, ma’am,” Steve said, and she helped him gather up the rest of his things and directed him off. The words from the unkind men now standing there awkwardly...they were faded and harmless now. Nothing could bring him down to Earth right now.  
He grabbed two honey rolls off of the tray, and the men looked at him hungrily. Any sugary food was still scarce, but Roxanne dispensed sweet pastries on him like she had an infinite supply of sugar. He wouldn’t have taken the precious pastries if he didn’t know it would offend her otherwise.  
“Have a good day,” he said politely to the men and he could feel their incredulous stares on his neck as he walked out.  
“That’s my boy. Now don’t go lettin’ these nasty folks get to ya,” Roxanne said as she passed by him again near the door, walking briskly. She was now pushing a heavy cart stacked high with dishes and what looked to be a new shipment of ingredients. He opened the door to the storage room for her so she could get through with her loaded cart, and she blushed, “What a gentleman you are! Sarah would be so proud,” she gushed and shoved three more honey rolls into his paper bag, “Now, no objections. Off you go.” She shooed him out the door, and Steve laughed a little. She was so sweet.  
Steve was glowing with a happy warmth as he walked back home. Home to Bucky.  
“Brought you some honey rolls from the cafe,” Steve announced as he peeked into their small living space and spotted Bucky, who had been snoozing on their small couch, “Miss Roxanne said hi.”  
Bucky’s eyes lit up, and he stuck out his hand, looking like a eager puppy dog. Steve slapped a pastry in it, laughing, and Bucky promptly devoured it in three bites, muttering around his food, “Tell her I said thank you very much...”  
Steve huffed playfully, “You didn’t even savor it.”  
“Course I did,” Bucky argued, “My stomach is enjoying it, right this instant.”  
Steve snorted, and sat on the couch beside his friend. He let out a great sigh as he let himself melt into the fabric.  
“Bucky...” he said. He was going to say something meaningful, but it wasn’t coming to him, so he trailed off after that word.  
Bucky shifted closer to him on the couch, and Steve leaned his head against Bucky’s shoulder and shut his eyes. The older man didn’t say anything for a while.  
Finally, he followed up with a softly whispered, “Steve.”  
Steve opened his eyes as Bucky traced his face gently. After a long moment, dark brown eyes glowing softly, Bucky stood. He pressed a chaste kiss to Steve’s cheek.  
“How about I make dinner tonight?” he suggested.  
“Buck, you’ve gotta be more tired than me. All I did today was draw.”  
“You need your rest. Call it a first date.”  
He had a stupid grin on his face as he spoke that made Steve want to laugh. But Steve understood, of course. He had just gotten what he had apparently been waiting for since he was a teen.  
“Okay,” Steve agree, though he felt slightly guilty about giving in and letting Bucky do all the work. It was nice, though, to lay back and shut his eyes after a long day. He dozed off, and when he woke again, Bucky was tapping him on the shoulder.

“Dinner’s served, sleepy,” he chuckled, his eyes crinkled with amusement, “You wouldn’t want to sleep through your first romantic supper, would ya?”  
Steve shook his head, and hopped up. None of the lights were on, and it was dim in the room. The sun had almost gone down now and pale pastels were filtering in through the blinds and flickering on the blue curtains. The dancing light gave them the appearance of rippling water.  
Bucky smoothed out Steve’s striped shirt and led him to their dining space with a mysterious smile. Steve heard soft music playing from the radio and Bucky swept him through the entryway into darkness and twinkling lights.  
Steve gasped when he caught sight of their dining table. It was cleared of art supplies and clutter and was partially draped with a white bed sheet, or at least Steve assumed that was what it was, since they had donated all excessive fabric like their tableclothes to the poor folks who were less fortunate than them and sleeping on the streets. Bucky had done a good job of making their second sheet look like a real tablecloth draped across the middle of the table...in fact, the whole arrangement looked professionally done. There was a bundle of blue flowers in his mother’s favorite vase and a dozen tiny candles lining the table, glimmering beautifully against the dark wood like little stars. For their meal, there was a fine hunk of salted ham, a little dish of mashed potatoes with gravy, and two warm rolls with strawberry preserves from their own little garden plot, all set out on his mother’s best porcelain. Steve felt tears come to his eyes, “Aw, Buck!”  
“All for you,” Bucky winked.  
“Goodness gracious,” Steve said.  
“Shh. ‘S no big deal,” Bucky said, “A little treat for our first date.”  
“Thank you,” Steve embraced him, laughing and crying at the same time. He was hopelessly affected by sweet gestures and Bucky’s wooing was definitely going to kill him at some point or another. Like the fact that Bucky pulled out his chair for him. He was beyond overwhelmed. He was having a candlelight dinner with Bucky. A month ago, he would have laughed at the notion.  
“So, how’s it going at the art school? Any closer to finishing that one charcoal with the darlin’s in the hats?” Bucky asked.  
Steve laughed, “Yeah. It’s getting there. I hope Mrs. Jordan likes it just as much as Professor Hales. She’s always going on about her hats, so I figured I’d make that my life impression.”

The evening quickly faded into night as they passed the time catching up and sharing precious smiles and laughter. Steve felt as though he were meeting Bucky for the first time again, but at the same time, he was just sinking into the familiarity of his best friend and now lover. Because that was what they were, wasn’t it? Lovers.  
Steve laughed at Bucky’s expression when he looked down at his pocket-watch and saw how late it was.  
“Well, shoot, Stevie. Would ya look at how long we’ve been gabblin’” Bucky chuckled, “You need to be gettin’ your rest, an’ here I am keepin’ you up.”  
Steve gave him a smile, though he did sigh as he stood and headed to the sink to clean his dishes. He wished the night could last. Bucky swooped in and swiped his plate with a dexterous hand, grinning mischievously.  
“Got it,” Bucky teased. Steve couldn’t help but smile at that. Bucky was quickly washing up the dishes before Steve could protest.  
“Buck!” Steve chided, though he wasn’t really sure what he meant by the cry.  
“Not jerk today?” Bucky asked, “I’ll take that as a win.”  
Steve raised an eyebrow, “No, you’re still a jerk.”  
“Good to know,” Bucky said stoically, and after a moment they both started laughing. Then, unexpectedly, Bucky was setting the porcelain dish on the counter with a small click, and leaning forward to capture Steve’s lips in a kiss. Steve tensed up for a minute, before relaxing and allowing his body to fall into an open position. Bucky stepped in, pressing himself flush against Steve, and that strange heat began coursing through him again. One of Bucky’s hands was twined in his, and the other in his hair, pulling him closer into the kiss that was setting all of his nerve endings on fire.  
Bucky pulled away, all of a sudden, and Steve panted for breath.  
“You good?” Bucky asked, worried about his asthma of course.  
“Never better,” Steve gasped out, heart racing. He knew it wasn’t just his bad lungs that had him so out of breath. His trousers suddenly felt far too tight.  
Bucky smirked down at his lower regions knowingly.  
“You excited, huh? Me too...God, who would think it, right?”  
Steve modded meekly, unsure of what to say or do. But despite his uncertainty, he had never felt so...alive. He was positively buzzing with energy, and a fierce longing that only Bucky could quench.  
“Whaddya want, pal?” Bucky asked in a low voice.  
“I...I don’t know,” Steve murmured.  
Bucky was at first puzzled, but then he laughed when he seemingly figured it out, “Oh! You’re never, uh, gone there with a gal, have you?”  
Steve shook his head adamantly, “N...no, I haven’t.”  
“Have you ever even...well, you hopefully know what I mean...taken care of yourself?” Bucky wondered.  
Steve blushed fiercely at that, understanding at least that much on the subject, and shook his head again, “No. I...I never have felt like this before except once or twice...and I wasn’t sure if I could, with my health and all. I was afraid I might be impotent, actually,” Steve stuttered out.  
“Well,” Bucky grinned, “Looks like that’s one problem you don’t have.”  
Steve nodded, cheeks still burning. Bucky winked at him with that nonchalant ease that settled his racing mind a bit, and then he was slipping hands under Steve’s thighs and back and swooping him up as easily as he had the dish.  
Steve let out a little yelp, which Bucky quickly stopped by returning to their kiss, carrying him to their room bridal style.

  
Bucky laid him down on their twin bed, and paused for a moment to murmur, “Let me take you there, tonight.”  
Steve knew he was breathing far too rapidly as he gazed up at the chiseled visage of his best friend, but he only felt trust and calm when he looked into those deep chocolate eyes.  
“O...okay,” he muttered, shutting his eyes as Bucky’s firm lips met his again, and just savoring the moment. Oh, if this wasn’t pure bliss, he wasn’t sure what was...  
He immediately rescinded his previous thought when Bucky’s, large, rough hands began spanning his scrawny form beneath his shirt, gradually making their way down his back. Thumbs slipped just under the waist of his trousers, and traced his sharp hip bones. This mere action caused a whine to slip from his lips, which was muffled and drawn up by Bucky’s exploring tongue. Nothing could describe the feeling of a sudden pressure on his groin. A palm ground up against his arousal, and he lost it, letting out a short whimpered cry and feeling heat spread through the front of his trousers.  
“Oh, Stevie,” Bucky breathed, "Already, huh?”  
Steve huffed for breath now that Bucky was finally letting him get some air, eyes unfocused. He let out a soft moan when the older man ran his hand along his side, smiling a little at him.  
“What about you?” Steve finally managed to gasp out, hauling himself out of bed and shaking a little as he changed out of his sticky pants. Bucky yanked him back down onto the bed when he was finished, but apparently just to try to force him to go to sleep.  
“Me?” Bucky smiled, “Tonight was about you, punk. I can take care of myself.”  
Steve furrowed his brow, trying to give Bucky a look of stubborn determination, and Bucky just chuckled and ruffled his hair like he was a little child, “Nah, punk. You just get some rest.”  
Steve sighed in defeat. He let his head fall to Bucky’s well-defined chest, and his eyes drifted shut to the sound of Bucky’s soft groans beneath him.  
So...that was what it was like.  
Bucky’s breathing hitched for a moment as he reached completion, and he whimpered out a “Steve,” but his quiet love was already dreaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picture I edited of the ladies with hats from the time period to make it look like a sketch:  
> https://witness2fashion.files.wordpress.com/2015/07/lhj-1936-oct-hats-btm-left-500.jpg


	7. My Little Flame, My Everything

_—==April 22nd-April 25th==—_  
  
Bucky’s POV:  
He was living in a dream, it seemed like, and he thought this to himself both that morning when he woke up with Steve’s small body draped across his form and three days later when Steve told him after a long kiss that he wanted whatever Bucky wanted.  
“Nah,” Bucky laughed, a bit taken aback by the spontaneous comment, but he didn’t let it show.  
Steve wanted what he wanted. Nope, he was pretty damn sure it was the other way around. The little artist that lay unashamedly with him in bed had his heart tight in his tiny hand. And Bucky didn’t ever want him to let go. Bucky would do anything for Steve. Steve was his little flame, his everything.

He still remembered clear as day when he first met the aspiring artist. He had admired the unbeatable spirit he had seen in Steve that day and every day since. The younger boy was a survivor, a warrior, a lion stuck in a mouse’s body. Bucky quickly grew close to him for his snappy sense of humor, his intelligence, and the beautiful thing that was Steve Rogers smiling. They were soon inseparable. He could recall roaming the city together as kids, getting into all sorts of trouble. Like that one time they had both had to ride home from Coney Island in the back of a freezer truck because they had spent all their money on corn dogs and fair games, for instance. That was mostly Bucky’s fault...

No, Bucky wasn’t going to just do whatever he wanted with Steve. He had waited far too long to risk mucking this up. He was going to give Steve whatever _he_ wanted, whatever he needed. And not just because he was trying to suck up to him. No, he loved doing this, doing his best to give Steve the world, just to watch him stutter and blush and try to say that he didn’t deserve it. And then Bucky could remind him that he did.

He made sure to tell him just that. And that was the end of the discussion.

  
He came home that evening to find Steve busily scribbling at the kitchen table that had returned to its normal clutter. Steve was sketching out a plan for a black-and-white comic for the Times Herald, sleeves rolled up and biting his lower lip as he concentrated.  
“Hey,” Bucky called out, pulling the door shut behind him and hanging his hat on a hook in the hall. He ambled into their kitchen and stood by the table for a moment, just watching.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve acknowledged, though not looking up from his work. Bucky moved over to him and peered over his shoulder to see what he was drawing. He loved seeing Steve like this, surrounded in his art supplies, bare arms stained with black pencil and huffing softly every once in a while as magic flowed from his tiny, skilled hands. Bucky leaned over the back of the chair and watched as Steve breathed life into some goofy cartoon character with a top hat and a monocle. He could get lost in this for a long time. Just the presence of Steve near him, enlivened by his art, and the sound of softly scratching charcoals on paper. He remembered many times when he had sat by Steve like this, watching him sketch or paint.

Back then, he had needed to hide his affection for the artist, pretending he was just interested in whatever he was painting or drawing. He often had felt a bit guilty, taking advantage of Steve’s intense concentration on his work to let his eyes wander to the younger man’s face, lips, or neck. And sometimes, when not at a table, to other places where he definitely should not have been looking at on a man he thought was completely straight. Art had also been one of the few ways he could get close to Steve without alerting him to the real reason, to touch him while he was awake.

Bucky _had_ restrained himself from touching Steve while he was sleeping, though he couldn’t really help the times when he woke up hugging the smaller man like a warm, living pillow, oftentimes with his morning wood pressed right up against his side or back. Steve had never commented on it, but given that he woke before Bucky about fifty percent of the time, Bucky knew he had to have experienced that at least once or twice. It had been a source of some embarrassment for him.

But yeah, he could swear on his honor that he had never purposefully touched Steve during the night. He would have felt horrible taking advantage of the younger man like that while he was just peacefully resting.

During the daytime, however, he didn’t have similar restraints. It was his guilty pleasure to seek every moment of contact that he could slip in without pushing the boundaries of a friendly, brotherly relationship. Art was a perfect way to do so. He could stand right behind Steve or even lean his head on his small shoulder as he watched the sketches take form on the paper, and he would pretend that Steve was feeling the same emotions that were crashing tumultuously through his mind. Had been going through his mind, since he was young and his affection for Steve had just been puppy love.

Suddenly, he was reliving a memory. It was the day that changed everything for him. Steve’s had been a night at Coney Island, and Bucky’s had been a hot summer’s evening on the roof of Steve’s apartment building. Sarah Rogers was inside cleaning up the kitchen after serving dinner for Bucky and all his siblings. God bless that woman...Bucky missed her almost as much as Steve.

Since his parents had died back when his youngest sibling was just a baby, they had been living with their Jewish uncle. He was single, and his hair was starting to grey, but he was a good, hardworking man. Bucky and his eldest sister were the only two who really remembered their father, and the youngest didn’t even have memories of their mother. Sarah Rogers and her son had thus become like a second family to them all. Ever since Bucky had taken Steve under his wing back in the sixth grade, the kind, smiling nurse had welcomed him and his whole family into her home with warm affection.

This particular evening, the best friends had grabbed a blanket and their food and ran out onto the fire escape.

“C’mon, your ma said the sky’s clear tonight,” Bucky called out, the metal staircase echoing with fast-paced clangs as they scampered up and onto the rooftop. When they got up there, they saw that the sky was indeed clearer than it had been in a long time.

Bucky looked over and saw Steve’s smile. They goofed around for a bit, jostling each other playfully, and then settled down on the picnic blanket to eat their suppers. The lights were low enough in the city that they could make out the constellations overhead, and Steve was eagerly pointing out each and every single one of them, thanks to a star-chart he had seen just once.

Bucky tried to pay attention, but he found himself looking over at Steve instead of the night sky.

For all of his medical problems, Steve was a work of art himself. He was brave, pretty, and smart. And his eidetic memory was really somethin’ else. His friend managed to memorize entire charts and maps and books just by lookin’ at ‘em once or twice. It really was neat.

While he may not have been able to truly pinpoint the feeling that surged up in him that day, he certainly knew later what the heat of attraction felt like. Right then, though, it was just a childish, soft sort of love, rumbling deep in his chest or giving him flutters in his stomach. Bucky had wondered what it would be roll over and press his lips to Steve’s. He’d never kissed anyone before, but he’d heard that you did it with gals you loved. Steve was no gal, but Bucky did love him. His lips looked soft.

He almost did it, right then and there, but then thought about what Steve’s ma would think, and what the preachers had been tellin’ them about men and women being designed for each other on Sunday mornings and thought better of it.

Bucky smiled as he came back from the old memory. Yes, he had been in love with Steven Grant Rogers for a long, long time.

Steve glanced up at the clock after a little while, and pressed a quick peck to Bucky’s cheek before heading over to their tiny kitchen area. The food he had been cooking was finished, and they were soon sitting down and chatting over another one of Steve’s excellent meals. Steve’s ma had really taught her son how to cook well, that was for sure. Steve could fashion a delicious dinner out of next-to-nothing. He could make a their tiny rations of sugar last a whole year, without taking away from the taste of the food. Bucky was utterly befuddled as to how he did it. The Rogers family magic, he supposed.

After they had finished their meal, Bucky led Steve over to their living room. At Steve’s questioning look, he grinned, “I was thinkin’...you had an asthma attack ‘cause I was getting too close to you last time when we were dancin’?”

Steve nodded, embarrassed, but Bucky’s smile only got bigger, “Well, now that that’s not gonna be a problem...how’d you like to try it again?”

He watched Steve’s eyes light up, and then Steve suggested meekly, “I’m just wearing a regular old shirt today, and I was thinkin’...we never get to wear those nice dress clothes we got hardly at all”

“But I’m all sweaty from the factory, doll,” Bucky laughed.

“I can wash ‘em after,” Steve laughed, and Bucky consented. A few minutes later, Bucky found Steve coming out of the bathroom all dressed up, and he looked the beautiful man up and down, quite certain he was staring. But then again, so was Steve. The younger man’s eyes trailed up his body, and his eyes flicked away self-consciously upon meeting Bucky’s. Bucky traced every inch of Steve’s adorable form and whistled appreciatively.

“I knew there was a reason we bought these swanky clothes, and it wasn’t just so you could look all ‘fessional for the papers,” Bucky grinned. He didn’t hesitate to pull the smaller man flush to his body once they were in their living room. A bit of fiddling with the knobs and the radio began a lively tune that Steve didn’t recognize.

“C’mere, ace, I’m gonna show you how do the Lindy Hop. It’s a perfect song for it.”

Steve laughed at that, “Oh, now I’m really gonna step all over your feet.”

“We’ll start nice and slow,” Bucky assured him, “Alright, so step back, like this. Yeah, and twist your foot a bit, just like that. Look, you’ve got it already.”

Steve snorted, “Yeah, the first move, at least.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More dancing to come in the next chapter! I'll have the song and the Lindy Hop dance linked at the beginning. ;)


	8. Trying New Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A video demonstrating the Lindy Hop dance which was popular at the time: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e62p_K4-Cvc  
> Second song they dance to: https://playback.fm/charts/top-100-songs/video/1939/Tommy-Dorsey-Our-Love

Steve’s POV:

Bucky was a good teacher, but Steve was finding it difficult to focus. He tried his best not to get lost in the soft, honey-sweet voice instructing him on the moves of the dance that Steve had never thought he would get to try. He’d never had a partner before, and he knew he was about a coordinated as a man with bricks tied to his feet.

“And one, and a two,” Bucky counted, “Hold my hands, now. We’ll start easy, just a bit of hoppy walking in place…weight on your left foot, right, left, right, c’mon, twist your feet a bit more, give me a kick. Just keep doin’ that now. Now we go right on around, keep kicking and jumpin’ from foot to foot. Let this hand go, arm out. Keep on doin’ the feet thing, don’t forget, that’s the most important part. Now pass me by and spin around once. No, too far...that’s it. And then your other hand’ll be right here, perfect. Again! Now, Spin around a bit, and then step back….now out to the side with a twist, step back when I do, same foot. Little further. Now, we do first part again with our hands together...now this time when you step out, you let go with your left hand and flick it out a bit. Like I’m doin’, see? And now, maybe add a little spin or two to finish it off. See, you’ve got it!”

Steve did not have it, by any stretch of the imagination.

“Now you’re just humoring me,” Steve groaned as he tripped over his feet _again_ , “You’re probably just glad you’ve still got your shoes on, so I don’t stomp so hard on your toes.”

“You’re not heavy enough to hurt much anyways, doll,” Bucky shrugged.

“Oh shut up, you jerk,” Steve growled playfully.

“Punk, ”Bucky said automatically in response.

He giggled a bit as Bucky pulled back to let him catch his breath, watching as the older man demonstrated all the moves he knew of the lively hop as though he had an invisible partner. He was jumping about on his feet like he had springs in ‘em, kicking and spinning with a practiced ease. Steve followed his movements with his eyes, mesmerized. Bucky looked incredible doing the hop on his own, and that was saying somethin’ considering the dance was mean for two. Course, it couldn’t get much worse than having Steve as a partner.

The song ended after a minute and another one began, and Steve recognized this one. It was ‘Our Love’ by Tommy Dorsey.

“Oh, how about the Foxtrot for this one?” Bucky crooned, flattening out his shirt and unhooking his tie as he spoke, “Promise it’s easier than the Lindy Hop. They do it in all those swanky ballrooms, I’ve seen it in the movies.”

Steve snorted, and Bucky shrugged, “Hey, looks easy enough, at least.”

“I’m not exactly elegant like the ladies in the movies, Buck,” Steve rolled his eyes as Bucky backed him up, and Steve had to admit that this was easier with Bucky confidently pulling him through all of the steps. All he had to do follow Bucky’s lead and try not to trip himself up.

“Just as pretty, though,” Bucky whispered after a moment.

Steve felt his cheeks grow warm. Bucky took him into a dip, led him about the room until they ended up in the same spot again, somehow. He then swung Steve out and twirled him. Steve was a bit dizzy after that and tripped over his feet, stumbling up against Bucky’s chest and breathing heavily, and the older man chuckled deeply. Bucky’s hand found his waist again, and he twined his fingers through Steve’s.

Time seemed to come to a halt as the singing part of the song began, and neither of them returned to the movements of the dance. They just swayed slowly to the soft rhythm, and Steve got lost in Bucky’s deep brown eyes. He felt faint, hardly there anymore, like he was living in a dream world.

The song ended far too soon.

The next tune began, lively and swift again, but Bucky reached over and shut off the radio, hand never leaving Steve’s side. Their faces were close enough that the tips of their noses were nearly brushing, and then Steve was doing the exact thing that he had imagined so many months ago when they had first danced together. Except, this time, the thought didn’t horrify him or send him into an asthma attack. This time, there was nothing stopping him from standing on his tiptoes and leaning forward and kissing Bucky. And so he did.

Bucky returned the kiss immediately, pulling Steve closer to him with a hand on the small of his back. His hands untucked the back of Steve’s shirt, and slipped up the knobs of his prominent, curved spine. Steve immediately felt self-conscious, remembered how freakish his back looked from what he could see in the mirror. His vertebrae stuck out like the spines on an alligator’s back and his scoliosis was easily visible under his thin layer of skin. Bucky just hummed, tracing the bumpy curve with his fingers and deepening their kiss.

“Want me to take you there again tonight?” Bucky asked, and Steve couldn’t agree fast enough, stuttering out a quick, “Y-yeah.”

Bucky smirked in that charming way he always did, and then he was unbuttoning Steve’s shirt. Steve fumbled at Bucky’s shirt in turn. Bucky slipped Steve’s belt free and then he was undoing his pants. Steve blushed slightly, glancing down as Bucky took hold of his meager erection. He was also aware that he was pathetically tiny in that area. But it was still hypnotizing to see Bucky’s whole hand wrap easily around his length like it was made for the purpose. Steve looked up to see Bucky’s eyes fixed on his length in his hand, which he was gently fondling and caressing already. Little waves of warmth pulsed down his length at each touch. Bucky had a curious expression on his face.

“I know it ain’t much,” Steve stuttered out, “Sorry.”

Bucky’s eyes darted up to meet Steve’s, a bit of surprise in his look, “Steve…it’s perfect. I don’t care whether you’re packing the longest in all of Brooklyn or the shortest. You’re gorgeous to me, doll.”

Steve took a moment to mull that over in his head. Was Bucky just being polite? But from the dark, wild look in Bucky’s eyes when he looked back up again, he was already lost in lust. Because of Steve. Tiny shrimpy Steve. He wondered at Bucky’s definition of attractive. He was probably looking at Steve through rose-tinted glasses still? One day, he’d wake up and realize that the Steve he had been crushing after wasn’t really attractive at all. And that would be the end of that.

Bucky cleared his throat and moved his hand on Steve’s erection, startling Steve out of his spiraling train of thought.

“What’s that look, huh? I’m not lyin,’ you know,” Bucky chided, “Steve, I do. I think you’re beautiful, I always have. Not just for who you are on the inside, either.”

Steve looked searchingly into his eyes, trying to find any hint that Bucky was fibbing, but all he saw was sincerity and admiration.

Bucky’s fingers tightened around him, and Steve’s breathing went staccato as he tugged up and then thumbed over the end. Stepping in closer so that they were flush to each other, Bucky’s lips brushed his neck, his faint stubble tickling a bit.

Then, the other man was shucking off his pants, and shoving his own length into his cupped hand alongside Steve’s. Steve could tell just from the feel of it that Bucky was enormous in comparison. His hand could still almost fully encircle both their lengths at once, though. Probably just because Steve was so absurdly small in every aspect. But that was the last thing on his mind at this point as Bucky's lips returned to his again.

The kiss turned quickly sloppy, all wet and clacking teeth as they became more desperate. Steve’s head went straight into the clouds at the feeling of Bucky tightening his grip and working them both with little twists of his wrist, just as Bucky’s thick length was grinding up against his own. He could hardly keep standing. With the amount of slickness between them, it was the perfect combination of smoothness and friction.

Bucky didn’t pull back from the kiss for a long time, to Steve’s shock. Normally he was overly cautious regarding Steve’s asthma. Steve was fine, to be honest...he could handle more than Bucky thought. He began to feel an intense need to breath as the deep kiss continued, but he was so discombobulated as Bucky’s hand movements because swifter that he could hardly bring himself to care. He had never been able to breath well through his nose thanks to his sinusitus, and he was quickly running out of oxygen. White spots began to dance behind his eyes and his head was throbbing a bit. But at the same time, shockingly enough, his gut was tightening, coiling, and he could tell that the rush of feeling was close.

Finally, Bucky seemingly realized what he was doing, and pulled back, breathing heavily himself now, and it was in that moment, as the air rushed back into his lungs, that everything came crashing down onto Steve at once.

“You okay?” Bucky started, and then, “Geez, yeah you are. Oh fuck, Stevie, ‘m not quite there yet, doll,” Bucky groaned, and Steve let out a whimper from his oversensitivity as Bucky continued to rub up beside him. Bucky stopped after a moment, much to his relief.

Steve blinked up at the older man still chasing his release, still feeling a bit dopey from his second ever incredible orgasm. Bucky pressed him up against the wall with a grunt, apparently deciding on what he was going to do, and began rutting his hard length up against Steve’s thigh at a frenzied pace. He was murmuring sweet nothings, head resting on Steve’s shoulder as his hips rocked in short, jerky movements. Steve sort of wished Bucky chest wasn’t pressed so tightly to his, because Steve had a feeling that it would be a sight that would never leave his mind, even if he didn’t have an eidetic memory.

As it was, he felt the faintest stirring of arousal in his now-soft cock. There was no chance of him going again anytime soon—he knew that for a fact—but God…. _Bucky_ pressing him into their wall beside the lone window in their living room, and using nothing but Steve’s leg to finish himself off? It had to be the single most arousing thing he had ever experienced, and even his pathetic little cock was doing its darned best to respond.

He watched Bucky’s expression in wonder, felt as his hips soon began to stutter. Bucky’s eyes had slipped shut, and his mouth had fallen open. He made little groans and grunts at each shaky thrust against Steve’s thigh, and it was hardly any time at all before Bucky’s face contorted into an expression of pure pleasure that was the most stunning thing that Steve had ever seen, and Bucky was spilling all down Steve’s leg, hot and sticky. And little to Steve’s surprise, he wasn’t disgusted by it at all. Steve had taken Bucky there—a moment he never thought he would have. Not many people got to see that expression that Steve had just witnessed, and it was beautiful.

Bucky leaned heavily against Steve, catching his breath, “You alright?”

“Never better,” Steve breathed out, and then laughed a little, “That was...fun.”

“Yeah?” Bucky murmured, pressing a soft peck to Steve’s lips and pulling back a bit, “God, sorry for kissing you that long. I got all caught up in the moment and forgot to let you take a breather.”

“S’okay, Buck,” Steve said, “Luckily, the asthma decided to give me a break, just for once.”

Bucky nodded seriously, “Let’s not tempt fate again, though. C’mon, let’s go get cleaned up, huh?”

“Yeah, and then we ought to be getting to bed. Early morning class again, so I’ve gotta get up at five,” Steve glanced over at the clock, “Gosh, it’s already ten thirty.”

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Bucky quirked a smile.


	9. Peace, Worry, and War

_—==May 8th==—_

Bucky’s POV:

On the weekend a couple weeks later, they both managed to find time in their busy schedules to go watch a movie together. Bucky manage to con Steve into going to see a romantic film called _Beyond Tomorrow._ It had just come out, and from what he could see, this one had a bit of a fantastical twist, which he knew Steve would enjoy. Something about ghosts or whatever.

“Buck, how are we going to explain to the lady selling the tickets why we don’t have dates?” Steve had initially protested. Bucky frowned, not having thought of that to begin with. He couldn’t remember exactly how he had managed it, but eventually he managed to convince Steve that it wouldn’t be morally wrong for them to pay the same price for a cartoon showing on another of the theater’s three screens and slip into the other movie instead.

So, now Steve and Bucky were quietly tiptoeing in and taking two seats in the back row in the near-darkness. The movie flashed onscreen, and Bucky watched as Steve quickly became hooked on the story line. It was about some new couple, a cowboy and a schoolteacher. There were these three old rich fellows that invited them over to their house for a party, and then they all three up and died in an accident and their ghosts came back to make sure that the couple stayed together. Somewhere along the way an drunk ex-husband came barging in. Bucky lost track of the story pretty early on.

It was risky, but Bucky took Steve’s hand in his, and Steve leaned up against him. Surely in the near-blackness like this folks wouldn’t be able to make them out well enough to tell that the smaller form of Steve leaning up against Bucky wasn’t just a gal with her date. And besides, it wasn’t like anyone was paying them any attention. All eyes in the theater were glued on the screen.

It was an even greater risk, but when the guy and the gal on the screen got to small talking and romancing and all, Bucky reached out and turned Steve’ s cheek and brushed his lips to the artist’s. Steve looked a little worried at first, glancing around furtively to see if anyone was watching, but like Bucky had seen himself...nobody was paying them any attention. They were soon making out in the near darkness, passion rising. The movie ran on and on, but all Bucky cared about was the taste of Steve on his lips. This was all he needed, all he wanted.

“Buck,” Steve finally whispered, pulling back for a minute, “We’ve gotta stop.”

“How come?” Bucky asked, crinkling his brow.

“If we go much longer, I’m going to have a problem walkin’ home, and uh, I think you will too, “ Steve said under his breath.

Bucky glanced down, and realized that Steve was quite right.

“Well, shucks. I really was enjoying that,” Bucky whispered back, pressing one last peck to Steve’s lips. They watched the rest of the movie in silence, Steve returning his head to its resting place on Bucky’s left shoulder. When the two ghosts began ambling off into the light, and the ending music began playing, they both managed to slip out of the movie theater the same way they had entered.

Steve’s POV

As they snuck out of the small theater, Steve was smiling broadly in the almost-complete dark. That had been about the most fun he had ever had at a movie with Bucky, and they had both utterly adored the _Wizard of Oz_ when they saw it together last year. _Gone with the Wind_ had been a spectacular film as well.

Once they were out onto the street, Bucky began to whistle absentmindedly as they walked. Steve really wished he wouldn’t. Not because it was annoying him, but it drew attention to the man that already caught girl’s eyes when he walked past. As they approached two women chatting on the sidewalk, Steve watched their eyes follow the two of them. Or more accurately, their eyes followed Bucky. He was invisible, as per usual. Not that he much minded, since he wasn’t really attracted to gals anyways. Bucky liked both, him not so much.

He was real glad that Bucky was oblivious to their ogling, because they were both fine-looking gals. The blonde was exactly Bucky’s type. Steve always did his best to follow his mama’s advice about not being jealous of others, but nevertheless he felt a tinge of envy churn in his gut at that moment. Bucky might have dated one of these girls at some point in the past. Who was to say that Bucky wouldn’t lose interest in him eventually, especially with all these much more attractive gals vying for his attention?

Or maybe Bucky was aware of the eyes following him as they passed by the two women, because just as they passed he put his arm around Steve’s shoulder in a comforting and only slightly-romantic gesture.

Steve was yanked out of his negative thoughts, but not for long. One of the gals whispered something to the other and he heard a faint giggling and Bucky’s name in hushed tones as they slowly ambled away. He wondered what they were saying and suddenly felt very self-conscious. Bucky was saying something about a nearby store, but he was more concerned with the eyes he knew were on him now too. He knew it was irrational, but he started worrying that they could somehow tell that the gesture was not quite platonic. That they could somehow read from that move alone that Bucky and Steve were two queers in a most-definitely illegal relationship.

A thought suddenly came to Steve’s mind, and not a happy one. How was Bucky going to not look suspicious if he all of a sudden stopped dating gals entirely? He was well known around the Brooklyn Heights for being a lady’s man. He almost always had a date or a dance or somethin’ with a gal. Now, instead of that, Steve and Bucky were going out to the diner and the movies and other places together. What if people put two and two together and realized that Steve was Bucky’s latest fling?

Was Steve just a fling? Bucky said he wasn’t, but…

“You okay?” Bucky muttered as they passed through an alley on the way back to their apartment, finally away from the crowds. Steve nodded mutely.

“You don’t look okay. What was that expression about when you saw those gals, anyways? Steve, you don’t need to be worried about them stealing my attention, if that’s what that was all about.”

Steve sighed a little. He had been hoping that Bucky hadn’t noticed.

Bucky shook his head, smiling slightly, “I swear, I wasn’t even paying them any mind.”

“But they were paying close attention to you ,” Steve interjected, “You aren’t worried at all that people might start noticing?”

“Noticing what?” Bucky frowned, stopping walking and turning to look at him.

“This. Us. What about your reputation for going out on lots of dates with the gals around town?”

“Well, I guess that reputation will just have to go away now,” Bucky shrugged.

“That’s just the thing, though. I don’t think it will, Buck. Gals will keep asking, and when you don’t act interested, they start to wonder. People will start talking, questioning, because instead of spending time with your dates, you’re spending all that extra time with me.”

“And you’re worried that they’ll eventually figure out that we’re together?” Bucky asked, and Steve nodded uncomfortably.

Bucky groaned, “Well it’s not like I can do much about it.”

“You may have to,” Steve murmured, pacing back and forth in agitation. He was sure his voice showed how upset he was about the idea, “Keep up some sort of front.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Bucky gripped Steve’s shoulder and held him in place, “Slow down. I think maybe you’re getting just a bit too worked up about this? I don’t think I need to date any more gals to keep people from catching on to our secret, really I don’t.”

Steve put on his bravest expression and met Bucky’s eye, “You can, though. I’m givin’ you permission. Maybe a date or so every few weeks. It’d keep people from asking questions.”

Bucky made a face, “But Stevie, I don’t wanna. I only want you.”

Steve smiled a bit, believing him. Bucky did want him. Not anyone else. He was finally convinced of it, and it gave him a warm fuzzy feeling in his gut.

Bucky sighed after a moment, “I mean, I guess it makes sense. It could be an issue. We would be taking a risk. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take, so long as you are, “ Bucky took a deep breath, “If you really think I need to, I’ll tip a few and go on a date with some floozy every once in a while. But God, Steve, I really don’t think that’s our only option.”

Steve took a deep breath, “No...actually, don’t. You’re probably right, there’s other options. And I think I just remembered that I’m a little stingy.”

“Thank God,” Bucky said, “Let’s just find some other reason why I’m out of commission, okay? Deal?”

“Deal,” Steve grinned.

When they got back to their apartment, a quick peck on the cheek nearly turned into a full blown bedroom session, but Steve managed to pull away and argue that they should at least eat dinner first. Bucky reluctantly agreed.

While Steve was making dinner, Bucky sat down to read the newspaper that Steve had brought in that morning, and just like that, any thought they had of having some fun together after dinner was immediately lost.

“Holy shit,” Steve heard Bucky choke out as he stirred the soup he was cooking up for their meal. He glanced up to see Bucky’s mouth was open and his eyes were wide as he stared down at the paper.

“What?” Steve asked.

Bucky didn’t answer for a second, eyes flicking back and forth across the page as he read, muttering to himself, “Oh my God. Oh shit.”

“What?!” Steve questioned a second time, moving over to come see what Bucky was so worked up about.

Bucky looked up and caught Steve’s eyes, “War updates. They’ve taken Luxembourg, they’ve almost got the Netherlands and Belgium, and now they’re invading France.”

Steve inhaled sharply, “Good God.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked back down to the page, and he shook his head in shock and horror as he kept reading, “It says here they’re heading for the Meuse River. The Allies were expecting them to come through central Belgium, but it seems like the main attack force is coming through southeastern Belgium instead. They expect the Meuse River to hold them off for at least four days when they reach it, and they’re gonna rally forces from Britain and redistribute French troops to the Ardennes Forest in Manhay, Belgium to try to hold the defensive line."

“May God be with those men,” Steve said solemnly, sadly.

“This is a nightmare. Shit, what’ll happen if they take France?” Bucky whispered in horror.

“They can’t,” Steve choked, “They can’t. If they take Western Europe…They’ve gotta be stopped! God, all those people…”

“There’s no way we’re not joining the War now,” Bucky stated, “God, we’re gonna be at war...”

“Well, it’s about time,” Steve responded sharply, causing Bucky to roll his eyes, “This isolationist policy is bullcrap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately the U.S. did not join the war that year.


	10. A Wild Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky consults an expert. He sure hopes Steve likes the results.

_—==May 19th==—_

After another long afternoon in the radio factory, Bucky was beyond ready to just head back to the apartment and forget about all the worry about war and politics and economics. The talk about the War over in Europe hadn’t died down for a second since they first got news of the invasion of France, even as their stupid, selfish country tried to isolate themselves from it. Steve had been stewing about the lack of American action for days. The weeks dragged on and all that seemed to come from Europe was more bad news. The Germans had built bridgeheads to cross the Meuse in only a day, not four. They had plowed through the defenses at the Ardennes in a couple more. The Netherlands had surrendered on the 14th and Belgium had surrendered yesterday. The world had seemingly devolved into chaos. Bucky was frustrated on behalf of Steve. They should be doing something, but it seemed like America had no plan to help their allies over in Europe any time soon.

He really needed something to take his mind off his frustration and the War for a while.

Honestly, he just wanted to be back in the apartment with Steve. Preferably in their bedroom. He felt himself start to get all hot just thinking about the small body of his lover, skin bared and hard cock twitching in his hand. He pinched himself, realizing that he was going to need to take an cold shower just as soon as he got home. Well, at least, if Steve wasn’t up for a little fun. He smiled, thoughts of Steve pressed up against him as they relived the dance, stepping all over his toes and apologizing until he shut him up with a kiss, and of the heat between them as they brought each other to completion that night. They had done it a couple more times since then, but that first night had been the best of all , exploring each other’s bodies for the first time after they were already breathless and giddy from their prior exertion.

“Hey, Bucky!” a blonde gal he vaguely recognized called out to him as he strolled past the diner where she was sitting with a group of other gals.

“Uh, hi,” Bucky said, caught slightly off guard, hoping nothing was visible and willing his slight erection to go away, “It’s Lorie, right?”

“Lucy!” the girl cried, “Goodness, Bucky, we went out together three times just last month, remember?”

“Yeah, I do,” Bucky muttered, running his hands through his hair. She sidled up to him, playfully giggling, “You don’t regret it, now do you, Mister Barnes?”

“No, ‘course not,” Bucky lied.

“So, you wanna go dancing tomorrow evening? They’re having a grand hop up in the pavilion by Roxie’s again. We’ll have a great time, just like last time!”

“Aw, sorry, kitten, but ‘fraid I can’t tomorrow. ‘m booked,” Bucky called out.

She frowned, pouting, “Oh, you’re takin’ someone else then?”

“Maybe. I gotta work that evening, anyways. But yeah, I got someone,” Bucky muttered. They didn’t need to know that that someone was Steve. They would just assume that it was another one of his ladies, at least for a while. Let them think whatever they wanted.

Bucky half wished he could, though. Take Steve to the dance down by Roxie’s and twirl him around on the floor, while the other guys danced with their gals. There would only be the lights and soft swaying again, and the when the evening chill settled in, Bucky would take his coat off and drape it over Steve’s shoulders. It was a very pleasant thought, though he realized that it was obviously impossible. If word got out about this, they would be taken straight to the jail house, undoubtedly.

Bucky sighed. It just...wasn’t right. How could people tell him that the feelings that he felt for Steve were wrong, any more than what another guy feels for a gal? He loved Steve with everything in him, and wasn’t that worth something? He wanted to give Steve everything, he always had.

It was this thought that led him to that one sketchy area down by the docks.

He wasn’t certain, but he had heard a few nasty rumors from the men at the docks, and once when he had passed through one of the back alleys there, two guys had nearly jumped out of their skin, and then scrambled off without even saying a word to him. He hadn’t seen what they had been doing, but it only confirmed his suspicions. He found himself trodding along a mossy cobblestone alley between two buildings. He spotted a lone young man, sitting on a rugged old bench and reading a newspaper. It was the same fella that had always been there when he had walked home in the evenings from the docks. Sometimes, there was another fella there, sitting with him, if his memory served him right.

The man looked up, startled to see him, and then glared and returned to his paper.

Bucky really wasn’t sure how to start, or even if he was right. He sure hoped he wasn’t in the wrong area.

“’Scuse me, but can I ask you a question?” he started.

The guy looked up, “Huh? Who’re you? Wait, don’t answer that, you’re that Barnes from down on the docks. I’ve seen you passin’ through here before.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Bucky said, “But I work at the radio factory now.”

The guy frowned, looking a bit nervous, “Then whatcha doing round here?”

“I had a few questions I wanted to ask. About this area of town. I’ve heard a few things from back when I worked at the docks.” Bucky continued.

He had a feeling he had struck the right note, when the man’s eyes widened.

“Relax, pal, I’m not going to turn you in if you are.”

“Are what?” the guy murmured, clearly not wanting to be the first one to say it.

“This block has a bunch of queers, right? That one leftover speakeasy is where they meet up.”

The man sighed in defeat, “Aw, hell. You swear you aren’t going to report us?”

“Nah,” Bucky chuckled awkwardly, “I may not look it, but I’ve always been a queer. Just never really wanted to show it before now.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s an open guy at the club,” the man suggested timidly, “If you wanna try that out.”

Bucky recoiled at the thought, “I’ve actually have got someone already.”

“Do you now?” the man asked, patting the bench beside him, “Come on, take a seat, Mister Barnes. M’name’s Calvin.”

Bucky smiled, and shook Calvin’s extended hand, and plopped down on the seat beside him.

“So, where’d you find your guy? I found my down at the club,” Calvin openly admitted.

Bucky smirked, “I found mine right in my apartment. My best friend since we were real young. We’ve been roomies, share a bed to save money. Less laundry, at the very least.”

Calvin smiled, “Well gosh, ain’t that something? You’re already sleepin’ with him. When did ya figure it all out?”

“Me? When I was fourteen. Steve was only eleven then, but he was just...so small and pretty. I found myself looking at him, an’ not the girls at the school like I was supposed to. All this time, the gals have been a distraction, ‘cause I thought I didn’t have a chance of getting him. They’re pretty sure, but they’re just not...him.”

“I get that. You chose ones that looked like him too, didn’t you?”

Bucky nodded, “Yeah, I don’t think he ever noticed that I usually picked the small, skinny blondes with blue eyes.”

“Mhmm. My guy is a big one, but when he’s thinkin,’ he’s a beauty. I can hardly take my eyes off ‘m. A shame that it usually doesn’t work out so well. I got lucky, ’cause of that club. I had a guy back in grade school that I really liked, but he liked gals. I didn’t stand a gosh darn chance,” Calvin mused, “But, you, lucky fella, you’re meaning to tell me that you got…”

Bucky nodded, “Yeah. I finally did. Steve told me back in April that he feels the same way ‘bout me.”

“Well, ain’t you a lucky man? Now that’s a story I’ll have to tell the fellas. Well, what was it that you wanted to ask me, anyway?”

Bucky shrugged, “I guess, just, how to do it properly. I figured someone around here might have a little more experience.”

“You mean how to make ‘m feel good?” Calvin asked.

Bucky nodded hastily, and Calvin laughed knowingly, suddenly seeming like the older, more knowledgeable one now, “Oh, I can tell you all ‘bout _that_ , now.”

Ten minutes later, Bucky headed off, mind still reeling from the barrage of less-than-appropriate information. He wondered if Steve would be up for trying some of the naughty things the man had suggested.

He shuffled awkwardly home, praying that no one would catch him with the unmistakable bulge in his work trousers at the thoughts that were flying through his head at breakneck speed. When he finally closed the door to the apartment, he let out a sigh.

“You’re late,” Steve called out, “Your food’s gotten cold already.”

Bucky groaned., “Sorry, Stevie. I was stopping down by the docks to see some old faces.”

Steve ambled into the hall, helping Bucky out of his jacket and hanging it on the hook. His followed the movement of Bucky’s legs as he kicked off his shoes, and then lighted on the small tent in his pants.

Bucky cleared his throat in a really bad attempt to draw attention away from his little problem, “So, how’s your day been?”

Steve eyes flicked back up to stare at some point past his shoulder, and he blushed, looking adorably ashamed to have been caught looking.

Bucky snorted at his confused, flushed face, “Yeah, I know. I’ve got a bit of a problem, as you can see. I was thinking ‘bout you all the way home, and it just kinda happened.”

Steve laughed, “Oh, Buck! You’re lucky you didn’t run into old Miss Lucy on the way up.”

“Well, thank God for that, at least,” Bucky said, already heading for the bedroom, “Whatddya say, wanna help a fella out here?”

Steve flushed to his ears at that, and scrambled after him. The tiny artist’s nimble fingers rushed to unbutton his shirt, and they fumbled for a moment with his zipper. Bucky helped Steve out of his garments, and then paused.

“What’s the matter?” Steve panted, already looking positively delicious. Bucky’s trousers weren’t even off, but he sat Steve down on the bed, “Stevie?”

“Yeah, Buck?” Steve murmured.

“I wanna try something with you, if you’ll let me?”

“What’s that?” Steve asked, light blue eyes shining.

“There was a reason I stopped down by the docks, actually. Turns out I was right, and there’s a group of queers that hang out around there. I met a nice nelly named Calvin, and he told me about something that guys can do together to make each other feel real good.”

Steve blinked, looking both confused and hopeful, “What’s that, Buck?”

Bucky took a deep breath, hoping that Steve wouldn’t think it was absolutely disgusting and messed-up.

“It’s really only if you want to, I swear,” Bucky said, “But a guy can have a guy like he might a gal. I never thought of tryin’ it with you, but I kinda want to now.”

Steve blinked, clearly not understanding.

“What I’m saying,” Bucky explained, steeling himself and trying not to blush or stutter like an idiot, “Is that guys have a, uh, back door, which can be used for certain things. Ya know.”

Thankfully, understanding dawned on Steve’s face, so he didn’t have to actually say out loud, _‘Can I please try sticking my dick in your ass, Steve?’_

Things weren’t looking good though, from Steve’s shocked and slightly-horrified expression. Yeah, he was bananas, for suggesting something so nuts. What a twit he was, for sure. Steve probably thought he was some sort of freak now.

“I mean, you don’t gotta if you don’t wanna, that’s fine. I just heard it feels good. Oh gosh, Steve, ‘m sorry, I shouldn’t have,” Bucky stuttered.

Steve smiled at little, and caught his eyes, “Bucky, I didn’t say no. I just...I never thought that it could...work that way. But if you wanna...” He broke off, breathing heavily.

Bucky stared, comprehension dawning on him slowly

“So you do want to try it?” Bucky asked

Steve nodded, his full-body blush taking on an even deeper shade of pink.

“Oh…” Bucky whispered, feeling like the ground had been swept out from underneath his feet. Steve was gonna let him…

Oh.

“I want you, Buck,” Steve whispered, voice cracking with desire. He tugged at Bucky’s trousers, the last clothing item between the two of them, revealing Bucky’s also aching need.

“You’ve got me,” Bucky replied softly, and then he was kissing his Steve once again. He scooped him up in his arms and laid him on his back on the bed.

“Hold on a minute, doll. Just wait there. We can’t just do this dry,” he said. “Gotta go find some oil or slick or somethin’.”

Steve gulped and Bucky followed the mesmerizing bulge in his throat with hungry eyes as the meaning registered on the younger man. He stared off into space for a moment, before snapping back to reality and muttering, “Um, I think there’s a large jar of olive oil in the pantry. Fourth shelf, on the right. Would that work?”

Bucky shrugged, “Probably, yeah. I’ll be right back. Few other things I gotta do as well.”

He went ahead and trimmed his nails as suggested, making sure there were no jagged ends. He found the oil as Steve had said and partially filled a small cup with it, setting it on the bedstand when he returned. Steve looked to have been very patient while he waited, not having shifted or touched himself. His length was sagging a bit. Bucky dipped his fingers in the oil and sat at Steve’s feet, admiring his naked figure. Steve really was beautiful, despite what he might think about himself. If others were too blind to see it, well then that was hardly Bucky’s problem. The gangly young man propped himself up with his pillows, following Bucky’s slick fingers with wide, curious eyes.

He smiled reassuringly, and pressed a kiss to Steve’s knees, before gently easing them open further. He scooted up in between his legs and leaned forward to press another light peck to Steve’s soft lips, “Okay, doll. I’m gonna start you out with a finger, okay?”

Steve blinked, and Bucky further explained, “I gotta prep you first. I can’t just, you know, shove in there right off.”

Hardly believing what he was doing, he let his hand fall between Steve’s legs, and slowly, looking into his eyes, parted his ass cheeks and slipped his slick finger between them to touch Steve’s pucker. Steve’s eyes went wide, and he jerked a little, but settled down again. Bucky tested the waters, gently pressing and massaging, still in a state of shock as to what Steve was letting him do right now. Steve twitched slightly, but didn’t say anything.

Bucky’s heart did somethin’ funny to him as he thought about the level of trust that this showed.

“Okay, I’m gonna go ahead and give you one,” Bucky said, and added a little pressure. His finger slipped in, soon buried in a heat not too unlike a gal’s...nevermind that, now.

He watched Steve’s reaction intently as he slid his entire index finger in to the knuckle. Steve’s eyes went real wide and he made a strange little choked sound, but he was holding Bucky’s gaze with trust in his eyes. Bucky gently eased his finger back out, and paused, “You okay? Talk to me, punk. Tell me how you feel.”

Steve looked away shyly, “It doesn’t feel bad…”

Bucky smiled a little, “Okay. Just lemme know if it does.”

He moved that single digit agonizingly slowly until he reasoned that Steve could take another. He warned him before slowly pressing in his middle finger as well. The muscle was tighter than tight around just that, and his imagination wandered when he thought of the possibility of being inside that heat. Inside of Steve... Steve winced at the addition, and Bucky paused, but Steve shook his head, “’m fine, Buck.”

Steve’s eyes were scrunched shut, and when Bucky pulled the little trick that the guy had told him about, he was surprised and pleased to hear a soft moan from the smaller man. Bucky curled his fingers again, leaning forward and placing his lips on Steve’s still half-soft arousal. It was hardening beneath him rapidly, though. He glanced up to see that Steve’s eyes were opened wide now, and he let out a shuddering gasp as Bucky added a third digit without warning and ran his tongue along his length, lapping at the salty-sweet bead of pre-come on his tip.

“Buck!” he cried loudly, and Bucky honestly couldn’t tell if he was scandalized or overwhelmed. He didn’t much care, because Steve was moaning now, putting his fist in his mouth to stifle the gorgeous noises that were coming from it. Buck tentatively lowered his lips over the head of Steve’s cock, and a tiny hand wound tight in his hair as he took his balls in his other hand.

“Buck, I’m...I think ‘m gonna…”

Bucky pulled back, not sure if he was ready for _that_ quite yet. A gal had done it for him once, but she hadn’t swallowed or nothin’.

Steve’s eyes were shut tight again, and with another thrust of his fingers, bliss painted itself over Steve’s face and he convulsed, coming the hardest and longest Bucky had seen him yet. He stroked Steve’s balls throughout it, hot fluid oozing on his wrist as he coaxed more and more out, and his boyfriend’s backside repeatedly clenched on the fingers of his other hand at each new pulse. It was strange and different, sure, but not bad.

He looked back up at Steve’s face, marveling in the expression of sheer ecstasy that he was responsible for. No, definitely not bad…

This had definitely been a good idea.

He slipped his hand free of Steve, watching the small man slump into a near-comatose state, and brought his other hand down to his own unattended arousal. A half-dozen quick tugs was all it took for him to shoot off with a groan. He collapsed on the small space beside his tiny lover in their meager bed, breathing hard, and soon felt a deep-boned relaxation settle over him. It was hard to convince himself to get up and wash his hands and get a warm, damp towel to clean up their messes, but he managed. Steve’s eyes opened as he came back in, gently cleaning his lover and slipping in bed beside him.

Big blue eyes watched him intently, and Bucky found love in them, and he was more than satisfied.


	11. Danger Around Every Corner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not dead! Sorry for the long wait, y'all, I just entered my first semester of college, and boy am I swamped! But here is at least one chapter to tide you over!

_—==May 24th==—_

Steve’s POV:

Steve was still blown away by what Bucky had tried with him. He realized that yes, Bucky had never gotten the chance to actually do what he had suggested because Steve had gone and ruined it by coming too early, but just Bucky’s fingers had felt amazing. Steve couldn’t believe how good it had felt.

A few more days passed, with news abounding of activity over in Europe and yet nothing at home. It was frustrating beyond belief for Steve, and while his mind often returned to his lover, he found it more and more preoccupied with catching up on the newspaper and wondering when America would finally take action. The hours slipped by, uneventful for the most part. He was on the way home from another day of drawing at Roxie’s when something finally happened.

Steve was so lost in thoughts about the war that he almost missed the scuffle going in a nearby alleyway off of Sidney Place as he passed it. Almost. His ears were the only part of him that functioned properly, though, so he heard the faint noises from the struggle over the light rain. He rounded the corner, pressing himself up against the wall and then ducked behind a dumpster.

“Please, don’t!” he heard a woman crying from around the bin, “I don’t have that much in there, I swear!”

“Give us the purse!” a gruff voice said, “We’ll do what we want with it, and with you.”

Steve peeked around the corner to see three large, nasty-looking men wearing masks, surrounding a terrified young woman.

“Okay, okay!” she shrieked as one of them jostled her roughly, and she thrusted her red handbag at the thieves, “Just take it, and go, please. Don’t hurt me please!”

“You know, you caused us an awful lot of hassle, little lady. And I’ve been awful lonely lately,” one of the goons said lowly, moving in closer, and there was no doubt in Steve’s mind what they planned to do to her once they took her handbag.

He had to do something. Now.

He stepped out from behind the dumpster, yelling out with all the strength he could muster, “Leave her alone!”

Three heads turned to look at him, sizing him up. Funny expressions immediately came to their faces. Then one of them started hooting with ugly laughter. The other two soon joined in.

“Lookit this little shrimp. Whatcha gonna do to us, shrimp? You gonna fight us, huh?” one of them jeered.

Steve didn’t let himself be intimidated. This was how everyone always reacted to him. But little did they know he had a plan. He stepped forward, planting himself steady and raising his tiny fists. They roared with laughter.

One of them stepped forward towards Steve, and the other two followed, “What a self-righteous little idiot. Why don’t we teach him a lesson, boys?”

They closed in on him now. Steve threw a punch at one of their guts, but it hardly caused a reaction. They caught his next blow and shoved him down. He got back up. They amused themselves for a little bit by shoving Steve around between the three of them, laughing as he staggered about and struggled to keep his balance. They weren’t throwing punches yet, but they would be soon enough.

But it didn’t matter. Little did they realize that Steve had already won, because the woman? While they were distracted, the woman took her handbag and ran for her life. Steve didn’t have any money or valuables on him other than his satchel bag with his art supplies, and he didn’t suspect that these particular thugs would be much interested in him.

When they finally looked around themselves and realized their mistake, the yelling and insulting and painful blows started falling, but Steve just tuned them out. He took the beating without another word, and on the inside, he was grinning in triumph. It was a price he was willing to pay.

They didn’t let off though. The blows just kept coming. Steve eventually collapsed to the ground, no longer thinking about saying ‘I can do this all day.’ And still they kept beating him, kicking him in the ribs with their boots until stars flashed behind his eyes. Were they planning on killing him?

In a haze, he heard a familiar voice yelling angrily in the distance. Then the blows stopped raining down and the thugs dispersed.

Steve laid sprawled in the gravel, vision blurry, all of the air kicked out of him. Bucky’s worried face came into view.

Bucky?

Steve shook his head, trying to clear his sight. His head was throbbing from where it had hit the ground. The light sprinkle from earlier had turned into heavier rain now, washing off the slight bit of blood dribbling off his forehead and down into his eyes. He was all muddy and cold now as the air chilled and his clothes became soaked. Bucky was dressed nice under his overcoat, something to do with company management being present that day, but nevertheless, he shucked it off and wrapped it around Steve.

“Can you get up?” he asked softly. Steve tried, but he felt incredibly faint and nearly toppled over again. His chest screamed in agony as he breathed in, and he guessed that he probably had a few cracked ribs.

“Yeah, never mind that,” Bucky said, “Sit down, punk. God, they did a number on you.”

Bucky gave him his umbrella to keep the rain off of him, which Steve was really grateful for considering how badly shivering hurt right now, and scanned him up and down, making Steve try to move all of his limbs to check if anything was broken.

“I think they cracked my ribs,” Steve wheezed out, hearing the grinding and crackling in his chest as he did so. Bucky winced at the sound.

“Damn it, again? Let’s hope it’s not worse than that.” Bucky groaned.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, and then hissed at the pain, “We can’t afford the doctor.”

“Which is why you need to stop pulling stunts like this!” Bucky snapped. He kept checking Steve over, quickly noticing that his kneecap was still bleeding heavily from where he had been thrown into the gravel. He rolled up Steve’s pants leg and pulled out the tiny first aid kit he carried around in his jacket pocket for this very reason. Thankfully, the fabric of Steve’s pants had kept the scrape from being too bad. Bucky was able to just daub a bit of alcohol on the wound, and tape some gauze over it. He questioned Steve as to what happened while he worked, and Steve managed to grit it out despite the pain building in his chest as the adrenaline wore off.

Bucky’s POV:

He literally couldn’t believe it. He had been on his way home from work, when some woman spotted him from across the street and ran over to him.

“Mister Barnes?” she asked breathlessly, eyes a bit wild.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me? Can I help you, miss?” Bucky asked.

“You are friends with a tiny blonde man, yes? Wearing a brown shirt and pants and carrying a leather satchel bag?”

Bucky’s heart nearly stopped, “Yes? Why?”

“He’s in trouble,” she gasped out, the three words he really didn’t want to hear.

“What? Where?” Bucky stressed. Oh God, what had the little idiot gotten himself into now?

“He saved me from being mugged...but...but now they’re beating him. Oh Lord! They’re in the alley over there...I just ran…” she stuttered.

“Thank you ma’am,” Bucky said, and immediately dashed over to the alley to which she had gestured. He immediately came upon a scene from his worst nightmares. Steve was on the ground, curled up in a ball, hands raised as he tried to protect himself from the three thugs viciously kicking him in the ribs, back, and head. There was blood on the ground, Steve’s. Bucky clenched his fists, hearing the blood rush into his ears even over the sound of the rain.

“HEY!” he yelled, and they looked up in alarm, “What in the hell are you trying to do, kill him?! That’s enough!”

Their expressions curled into something nasty, but after looking at each other and Steve, they apparently decided they had beat Steve enough, and they didn’t care to tussle with Bucky. They ran off, the cowards, and Bucky was smart enough to curse them only in his head. He didn’t think that he could take three guys as big as him, though he could probably do some damage before they took him down at the very least.

He scrambled over to Steve. Steve blinked up at him, a bit of blood dribbling down off his forehead, mixing with the rain that was soaking him and all his belongings. Bucky spotted his art satchel on the ground nearby. Everything in it was utterly ruined, the bag having come open and spilled all of its contents onto the muddy ground. Bucky already knew that even if Steve was badly injured, that would be what he would be upset about.

But yeah, Steve was all muddy and soaked through to the bone. He was shivering faintly as Bucky helped him sit up, and Bucky instinctively took off his overcoat and wrapped it around the younger man.

“Can you get up?” he questioned, and immediately regretted it when Steve tried and nearly fell back over again.

“Yeah, never mind that. Sit down, punk,” he said, muttering under his breath, “God, they did a number on you.”

He gave Steve his umbrella. No sense in giving him a warm dry coat only for it to get soaked again. Bucky could stand the cold, wet weather, but Steve? Not so much. That was the last thing they needed was for Steve to get hypothermia, and so close to the warmest part of the year, too…Today had just been unusually cold for the season.

He looked Steve over, examining his scraped-up hands from where he had caught himself on the gravel, the bruises littering his arms from where he had been trying to shield his face from the kicks, and the cut on his knee that was steadily oozing blood. Who knew what his chest looked like, as it had appeared that most all of their kicks had been hitting there…Steve was still wheezing for breaths.

“I think they cracked my ribs,” Steve stated, and Bucky groaned, realizing that this was the crackling sound he was hearing every time Steve took a breath, “Damn it again? Let’s hope it’s not worse than that.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, wincing every time he spoke or inhaled. Bucky could only imagine how much pain Steve was in, and he hardly showed it, “We can’t afford the doctor.”

“Which is why you need to stop pulling stunts like this!” Bucky huffed. It honestly was ridiculous how many times this had happened. But he had to admit, it was pretty damn heroic, what Steve did sometimes. He couldn’t imagine being willing to suffer so much just to stop a woman from being mugged. Sure he’d try to do something, but he wasn’t sure he could stick himself into the situation if he was Steve’s size, knowing that the only thing that could happen next was getting the shit beat out of him. He patched Steve up as he explained what had happened, and once Bucky had finished, he leaned over so that the injured man could clamber up onto his back. He hissed at the pain the movement obviously caused him, and Bucky winced upon hearing the noise. He loved Steve, he really did, but this was one thing about the bold artist that he sometimes couldn’t stand. The sound of Steve in pain just stabbed a hole straight through his heart. The smaller man then held the umbrella over the two of them as they slowly made their way home.

It had always been like this, hadn’t it, though? Bucky always had to worry about Steve at every turn. If it wasn’t his asthma, heart arrhythmia, or his damn self-sacrificing heroics, it was something like the common cold or flu that tried to rip Steve’s life out of his hands. Back when Steve was younger, he could recall the doctors telling Sarah Rogers that her son wouldn’t make it to age thirteen. Both Sarah Rogers and Bucky made it their goal to prove them wrong. Then, the doctors changed Steve’s life estimate to fifteen. After that, it was eighteen, and twenty one.

Bucky would just smirk and scoff at their ridiculous estimates, even though he knew that the next one could very well come true. Not on his watch, he would think. No chance in hell was he letting his Steve die anytime soon.

Of course, January of 1937 had reminded him that some things were not exactly in his control. It was just a few months after Steve’s ma had passed, and Bucky was honoring Steve’s decision to live on his own.

He understood, really, Steve’s desire to continue living in the same place he always had. Some days, he considered leaving his family’s apartment to his oldest sister, now 19 and with a well-paying job, and going to live with Steve. He could still support them with his paycheck, and with two more older siblings at the ages of 18 and 16, and the youngest ones being 12 and 10, he knew that they would be okay without him present. He could keep an eye on Steve, then, now that Ms. Rogers wasn’t there to do it anymore. Thankfully, old Mrs. Lucy, a retired nurse who lived on the same floor as Steve, was able to keep an eye on him for Bucky, but he didn’t know how much longer he could rely on her. She was get less and less cognizant every day, already having trouble remembering her long-dead husband as her mind deteriorated.

Then January of the next year rolled around, the first winter that Steve was having to weather mostly on his own, and Bucky knew that he had made a grave mistake. Mrs. Lucy had found Steve on the floor one day, sweating and shivering, and sent for Bucky. Soon enough, the flu had Steve rolling in bed with a high fever. For the next two weeks Steve was bedridden. Bucky sat by his side, pressing cold washcloths to his forehead and spoon feeding him when he was well enough to eat.

The fever burned hotter and hotter each day, and by the sixth day, Steve stopped responding to his voice or touch with anything other than a groan or a whimper. By the seventh day, he was completely comatose. Bucky would carry his limp form to the bathroom, having filled the tub with as much ice from the ice truck as he could carry so that he could try to keep Steve’s body from burning up.

By the ninth day, Steve’s fever reached 107.4 degrees.

Bucky listened in horror as Mrs. Lucy sadly informed him that the lethal temperature was 108, and that Steve’s chance of survival at this point was next to nothing. He returned to Steve’s room in a daze, slumping down into the cushioned chair beside the bed. And he cried. And cried. He sat on the edge of the bed and cradled Steve’s face in his hands.

“Damn it, you little idiot. Damn you. Don’t you do this to me. Don’t you dare die on me, you little punk.” he remembered repeating multiple times throughout the course of the day. Then it turned to begging: “Please...Stevie please...I can’t lose you. Please don’t leave me. Please, God, no.”

He prayed, and he begged, and he sobbed over Steve’s lifeless body, but nothing changed. The fever remained, relentless as ever. And for the first time ever, Bucky truly thought that he was going to lose the man he had loved since he was fourteen.

Finally, on the tenth day, Bucky got his miracle. By that evening, Steve’s temperature had gone down almost two degrees. A couple days later, Steve was well enough to drink and eat a little. In the end, Steve hadn’t been taken from him after all, but by God if Bucky was ever going to let him live on his own anymore. If Mrs. Lucy hadn’t found him collapsed on the floor, already too sick to stand or call for help...No, the point was non-negotiable after that. Bucky was moving in with Steve. And that’s how they ended up becoming roommates and even sharing a bed. And of course, falling in love. 

Bucky could only hope and pray that he would get to keep Steve for a long time to come. Because if he lost Steve now, it would kill him. But for now, he would just focus on taking care of his stupid, stubborn lover who had gotten himself nearly killed for what had to be the millionth time, and not worry about what the future might hold. 


	12. Recovery

_—==May 24th-July 3rd==—_

Steve’s POV:

Bucky insisted that he remain sedentary for over a week after the incident. Steve didn’t argue much in the first few days because he felt like such utter shit, staying in bed the majority of the time. There was a constant dull ache in his chest that turned into a sharp agony whenever he breathed or moved. He started improving significantly after just a few days though, and soon returned to his art.

Unfortunately, he had lost his second-favorite sketchbook in the tussle...thankfully not the one with all the pictures of Bucky he had drawn over the years; that one was too personal to carry around with him, but the one that was ruined had been chock full of character sketches and ideas for his comic in the Times Herald. It was all in his head still, of course, but it was a lot of work that he had lost. Not to mention that once he was feeling well enough to get back to sketching, he had to completely restart the comic he had been working on. Thankfully, the company had always been pretty forgiving and understanding of Steve’s limitations with his health issues, and gave him a medical leave without even asking any questions. They could fill in his spot in the newspaper with some other comic for a few days, they said.

After a while, Steve was dying to get back on his feet again and get out of the house, but Bucky refused to let him do so much as go to the grocery store or to the diner. Steve understood his concern, he really did. Bucky was probably right, after all. With his definitely-cracked ribs, any exertion was out of the question for a few weeks. Not only could it put strain on his injury, but it risked an exercise-induced asthma attack. A single attack with heavy coughing and a heaving chest could undo a significant portion of the progress he had made towards recovery.

Bucky finally let him start going out and about a few weeks later, though he still was overly protective and worried far too much. Steve was still a bit sore and achy, but honestly, what was new? His arthritis and nerve damage alone made every waking hour painful. He had long since gotten used to it.

Something he had not gotten used to were the war updates. Sure they were regular, sure they were expected and not all that surprising, but they never failed to evoke the same shocked, horrified reaction. The nasty emotions of anger and helplessness kept popping up at each new update. About two weeks after the incident with the muggers in the alley, they found out that Norway had been taken by the Nazis. And a day later? Italy had joined the Axis. God, like they needed another foreign power to contend with...the bad news seemed endless. Later in the month, they joined forces with Germany to take over France. Between the twentieth and the twenty-fifth of June, France had entirely surrendered to the combined forces of the Axis.

Steve began to wonder if America was planning on waiting until the rest of the known world was under Nazi control before they reacted. Though he looked forward to celebrating his birthday as usual on the day of independence for his homeland, as of right now he was not very happy with this country. Which, he was sure, he had reminded Bucky of plenty enough.

“Do you ever stop thinking about the war?” Bucky asked on day, not for the first time, setting down the newspaper where he was reading through Steve’s latest comic for what was probably the fourth time now. He always checked in to see how the sketches were progressing throughout the process, and he pre-read them before Steve mailed them in to the editors. And then again, once they had actually been published.

Steve had just been talking to Bucky about the grim topic of the never-ceasing conflict again while he was making dinner. He shrugged, “What do you expect? You know it’s drivin’ me crazy, just sittin’ around here like this, while people are over there dying left an’ right.”

Bucky sighed, “Not like you’d be able to do much, even if we were at war.”

Steve huffed at that, glaring a little at Bucky, “When we join the War, I’ll be the first in line to enlist.”

Steve watched as Bucky’s head whipped up at that statement, and he stared at Steve with wide eyes, “You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“No,” Steve muttered, “Why would I be? I wanna serve my country, help those people over there.”

“Steve…” Bucky whispered, voice tinged with horror, “I knew you were all gung ho for us joining the War. I never dreamed you’d wanna fight in it.”

Steve sighed, “Then maybe you don’t know me as well as I thought you did. I’m not some coward, Buck.”

“I do know you Steve,” Bucky finally spoke, “I know that you don’t exactly think straight all the time, and you overestimate what you’re capable of. Look, I’m not saying you’re not brave and strong...but Stevie, look at what those guys did to you in that alley. Think a little. You just...aren’t cut out for that kind of stuff.”

Steve groaned and turned his head. He hated when Bucky underestimated him, when he got this protective. Sure, it had saved his life plenty of times in the past, but…just...Steve wasn’t as much of a helpless baby as Bucky might think. What Bucky didn’t understand was that Steve had already made up his mind on the matter. If and when the U.S. joined the War effort, then he would be right there on the frontlines, just like every other patriotic man in the country. And a little worry about his health issues wasn’t going to stop him.

Regarding his chest injury, it soon became clear that it was not so bad as they had thought. Nearing the end of the 5th week, a day or two before his birthday, Steve managed to convince Bucky that he actually felt fine. Bucky had been quite skeptical, and again, could Steve really blame him? He had a bad tendency to understate the pain he was feeling. He hated complaining, hated the way it made him feel. His ma had always taught him to go about his day, no matter how bad it was, with a smile and a cheerful attitude. And so he did his best to do so, if only just to honor her memory.

On an off thought, he wondered if she was proud of him for where he currently was in life. Last year, he would have answered with a definite yes, that he was living a life that would have made his ma proud. But now...he couldn’t help but think that his current relationship with Bucky might have upset her as a strongly Christian woman. He honestly wasn’t sure. It wasn’t as though they had ever had a conversation on this topic while she was still alive.

He chose to believe that she was looking down on him from her spot in Heaven, not judging him for his differences and not condemning him. That she could see how pure and strong his love for Bucky was, and so she didn’t mind. It was a nice thought, and though Steve was prone to tearing himself up about stuff like this, he managed to come to the conclusion that if Sarah Rogers was still alive, she would still love him nonetheless.

By the time his birthday rolled around, the mostly-recovered artist felt a bit touch-starved. Not once had the feeling of being touched back there left his mind since that crazy night. Thoughts flickered in his head of what it might feel like to actually have a bit more than just Bucky’s fingers. It was something he never would have imagined he could fantasize about.

Just those fingers had been overwhelming. As soon as Bucky had added that third finger, he knew he was through. That combined with Bucky’s lips… _Bucky’s lips_ around his cock was more than enough to make him come in minutes.

But of course, until he was healed, attempting to finish what they had started was out of the question. He was recovered now, though, or at least for the most part. It was his 22nd birthday tomorrow, and he knew exactly what he was going to ask for, if he could summon the courage to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, cracked ribs take a minimum of about 6 weeks to heal. So I made it that, to make Steve's suffering as short as possible.


	13. Happy Birthday Steve, 1940

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky celebrate Steve's 22nd birthday, and Steve has a request.

_—==July 4th==—_

Steve’s POV:

As soon as the light began to fade, they scrambled up to the roof as they had done so many times in the past. Steve loved coming up here every year on his birthday as day sank into night to watch the fireworks go off down by the docks. They weren’t the best fireworks in Brooklyn, he knew. Those were down by Coney Island. But the lesser show right near his apartments held a special place in his mind, bringing back memories of many a happy birthday with his ma and Bucky and Bucky’s younger siblings, right here on this rooftop.

They brought a hearty meal, some drinks, and a picnic blanket and settled in to watch the show. Bucky had bought a slice of banana cake from a local bakery and presented it to Steve with a large grin, and Steve had tucked it away for after dinner.

“Finally starting to cool off today,” Steve noticed. The smothering city heat had died down to a tolerable warmth once the sun set. Steve ambled over to the edge of the roof to see if he could spot the tiny people down by the water setting up the fireworks. They had a pretty straight shot to the docks, so it was the perfect viewpoint.

“How was work?” Steve asked cordially.

“Oh, same old same old. You know that one guy Johnny right? One of the ones that moved up here from the South?”

“Yeah, the one you said was all upset because he didn’t have any grass to chew on while he worked, so he took up smoking?” Steve asked.

“That’s the one,” Bucky chuckled, “He came in today flaking all over from a sunburn after a rooftop party at his apartment. Said it could never happen, that he was born a sun-lovin’ southerner. Guess he was wrong, huh?”

Steve snorted lightly, “Yeah. Guess all this time in the radio factory paled out his tan, so now he’s not as resistant to it anymore.”

Bucky came over to stand beside him, falling silent for a while, and they watched as the first bursts began to light up the night sky.

“Ho boy that was a bigun!” Bucky would point and exclaim, “Ooh, look at this the tail of this one coming up. Looks different…”

Steve followed Bucky's fingers with his eyes just in time to see an enormous red, white, and blue one explode its color across the skies and Bucky gave an appreciative clap and a whistle. Steve just laughed at his fascination with big, bright explosions, grinning from ear to ear. This had been an amazing birthday already, and the evening wasn’t even halfway over yet.

Blasts of red, blue, and yellow just kept on coming, and soon the air was filled with smoke. That was the only thing Steve didn’t like about the fireworks. They filled the air with those nasty fumes and blotted out any hint of the stars you could find in the big city.

“These are the biggest fireworks they’ve had down at the docks in years,” Bucky noted.

“Sure are,” Steve grinned, “America is really starting to recover now. Let’s hope it stays that way, huh?”

Bucky held up his beer with a half-smile, “To America’s future prosperity and your health, that you may both survive another year!” Steve raised up his can of pop, chuckling a little, “To our beautiful country, and my beautiful Bucky.”

Bucky downed his beer and laid back on the blanket with his hands behind his head.

Laying back too, Steve rested his head on Bucky’s arm, snuggling up against him, and Bucky lowered an arm to wrap around him. His hand twined into Steve’s hair and gently played with it.

“I love you, ya know that right? Love you so goddamn much.” Bucky muttered.

Steve giggled giddily, “I know. I love you more.”

“Doubt it,” Bucky challenged.

“Bet you’re wrong,” Steve replied.

Bucky just chuckled and ruffled his hair fondly like he had always done in the past. Steve realized that nothing had truly changed all that much between them. They were just finally acknowledging the feelings that had always been there, curled up inside of both of them. He pressed up closer to his best-friend-turned-lover and settled down to watch the rest of the show.

As the last of the sporadic fireworks died off, Bucky let out a great sigh. Steve turned his head and looked up at Bucky in confusion.

“What’ s wrong?” Steve asked.

“You know, I meant to get you something for your birthday. I had all this time, and I never did get anything.”

Steve rolled his eyes a little, “Buck, gosh. You didn’t need to get me anything. Besides, you can’t blame yourself since I never even told you anything I wanted.”

“You never do,” Bucky pointed out, “Doesn’t mean I couldn’t have found something.”

“But there’s nothing I really want. I don’t need any more sketchbooks or pencils. You already got me a radio this year, and a nice big slice of banana cake,...and not to mention the best present I’ve ever gotten.”

“What’s that?” Bucky questioned.

Steve smiled a little, “You.”

Bucky’s smile went real wide at that, and he leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to Steve’s lips, before sitting up.

“C’mon, ace, I think it’s about time we go to bed. Still got work tomorrow and all,” Buck reminded, “Look’s like the show’s over anyways.”

As they cleaned up the remnants of their dinner and packed up the picnic blanket, Steve suddenly remembered that there was one thing he did want for his birthday. He turned to Bucky after they had climbed down the fire escape and were back in the hall of their apartment.

“Y’know, there was one thing…” Steve murmured.

“Yeah?” Bucky’s eyes lit up, putting the stuff back where it belonged and turning his full attention to Steve. Steve blushed a little at what he was about to ask for.

“I...um,” Steve started, “You know how you tried that thing out with me a while back? Before I got beat up?”

Bucky’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard, “Yeah, I do.”

Steve relaxed a little, taking a deep breath, “For my birthday, I want to actually finish what we started. I wanna go all the way.”

Bucky’s breathing got heavy, and Steve felt quite proud that he had managed to get that all out without stuttering.

“You sure, Stevie?” Bucky whispered, sounding both hopeful and worried.

“I am,” Steve stated.

Bucky frowned all of a sudden, evidently realizing something, “But what about your ribs? I dunno if you’re really healed yet. I don't wanna hurt you, doll.”

Steve rolled his eyes, groaning in exasperation, “Buck…I’ll be fine. I feel swell, chest stopped hurting ages ago.”

Bucky took a deep breath, “Okay, okay...you better be being square with me though. ”

Steve agreed, and a guilty sort of elation filled him at the thought of what was coming. “I’ll, uh...I’ll go get the oil I guess.” Now that Bucky had agreed, his brief moment of bravery wore off, and he was all nerves.

“Right,” Bucky said, looking like he was on edge himself, “You do that, and I’ll go trim my nails.”

A few minutes later, they found themselves meeting in the bedroom again. Steve set the oil down on the bed table with a small clink, eyes locked on Bucky’s. Bucky stepped forward, murmuring lowly, “You ready for this, doll?”

Steve nodded quickly, “Yeah. I think I’ll be able to last long enough if you don’t touch me until the end.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, though he was smiling a bit, looking mostly curious, “Does it feel that good by itself?”

Steve flushed red at that and nodded quickly.

“No need to be ashamed. It’s supposed to make you feel good...that’s why I’m doin’ it,” Bucky murmured, backing Steve up to the bed and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Steve’s collarbone. Steve let his weight fall onto the bed and propped himself up at a comfortable angle. Well, he didn’t honestly know what would be comfortable, but he could guess.

“God, doll, has anyone ever told you that you’re gorgeous?” Bucky murmured.

“Not exactly,” Steve snorted.

Bucky grinned, “Well now they have. You’re the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Steve felt something flutter in his chest, and a warm tingly feeling spread all the way down from his chest into his belly. He knew that it would be accompanied by the full-body blush that only Bucky could bring out.

He couldn’t even begin to describe how much it affected him to see Bucky dive down and passionately press wet kisses all the way from his neck to his inner thighs. Couldn’t even begin to describe the feeling of Bucky’s hand slipping between his butt cheeks and finger teasing at his most intimate region. He could help but twitch at the feeling. His cock was already leaking uncontrollably, and Bucky hadn’t even slipped in a single finger yet.

“Oh...oh God, Buck please... if you don’t stop teasin’ me I’m not gonna make it long,” Steve grunted out, tense as a bowstring.

“Okay punk, but you gotta try to relax for me. It ain’t gonna feel good if you’re all tense like this.”

Steve tried to relax a bit, and then Bucky finally gave him what he had been dreaming of for weeks. His rough finger slipped in, slick easing the way. The pad of his index finger was still course as it rubbed over his insides though, and as soon as Steve got used to its foreign presence, he found that it provided just the right amount of friction. Or at least for a little bit until he began craving more. But Bucky was apparently going to take his time, and Steve found that he really could last a lot longer if Bucky’s mouth wasn’t also on his cock while his fingers were simultaneously teasing his ass. He was sobbing by the time Bucky added a second finger, and when Bucky found some spot within him and rubbed over it with the pad of his finger. God, it was like the Fourth of July fireworks from earlier were now going off in his head. He was a panting mess by the time Bucky added a third finger, but thankfully he didn’t take too long with this one.

“Bucky, please. I’m ready. I need you, please,” Steve gasped out. Bucky’s eyes were dark with lust, but he still had enough presence of mind to pause, “You sure about this Stevie? I’m a lot bigger than three fingers.”

Steve could only imagine, from what he had felt when Bucky had stroked both of them in tandem.

Or maybe he didn’t have to imagine, because Bucky was shucking off his pants for the first time where Steve could actually get a proper view of the other man’s cock.

He reflexively gulped at the size. Bucky’s hard length looked so long and thick and beautiful in comparison to his own. And for some reason, all Steve could think about right now was how much he couldn’t wait to have all that in him.

Bucky’s POV:

He watched Steve’s reaction as he unveiled just how much he was packing. Steve’s eyes went a bit wide and he gulped.

“Any second thoughts?” Bucky chuckled, “You think we oughta prep more?”

To his surprise, Steve shook his head adamantly, practically whining, “No...noo...Bucky please…”

And fuck if a desperate, begging Steve wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

“Okay, okay,” Bucky consented, and began oiling himself up, making a bit of a show out of it just to drive Steve even more insane. Steve let out a soft moan as he watched, but showed incredible restraint by not touching himself.

“You ready for me?” Bucky finally lined himself up between Steve’s thighs and leaned forward so that he could whisper it against Steve’s ear. He nibbled at the artist’s earlobe for a moment before withdrawing.

“Yes! Yes I’m ready!” Steve cried, thrusting his tiny ass back to try to find Bucky, and then he blushed in a moment of self-doubt. Bucky loved the fact that he was the only one who could make Steve blush like that, from the tips of his ears down to his chest. He loved that he was the sole owner of that feature of Steve’s body, had always been for as long as he could remember. Even before he really had Steve, there was a part of Steve that was reserved solely for him. Though he really wished Steve would stop doubting himself so much…

“Then brace yourself. Well, don’t tense up, I mean, try to relax. You’re going to have to trust me for a minute here.”

“Okay,” Steve murmured, form tensing up despite Bucky’s words when he felt the tip of Bucky’s cock press against his entrance.

“Relax…” Bucky whispered, easing in ever so slowly, and he felt Steve’s tight backside clench up around him almost painfully before loosening up. He slipped in bit by bit as Steve tensed and relaxed. There were some tears in Steve’s eyes, and he looked a bit scared and nervous.

Bucky had to take it slowly himself, or he was going to come way too early, because Steve’s hole was about the tightest thing he had ever felt. It clenched, a hot vise surrounding him as Steve tried to get used to the intruding girth.

“Shh, just relax. Trust me, Stevie. The other nelly said it would hurt for a little bit until you adjust. You just gotta loosen up a bit, you’re all tight.”

Steve nodded weakly, and Bucky brushed off a tear that spilled from his cheek, pressing a gentle kiss where it had fallen. He had only made it about halfway in.

Steve trembled as Bucky withdrew until only a couple inches were left inside of Steve, taking a shaky breath, and let out a pained whimper as Bucky slowly pushed back in, slipping past the halfway point this time...two thirds… No, three quarters almost. Bucky paused like this, “Just a bit more, I think. If it keep hurting, we’ll stop, okay? Just tell me to stop, doll.”

Steve nodded, and yet again, the trust in his eyes had Bucky floored. It wasn’t until the third thrust that eased almost every bit of his length into Steve’s tight channel that the reality of the situation hit him.

He was inside of Steve, his lover, his best friend for life. He was inside his first teenage crush, his dream man, the love of his life. Fully encapsulated by his warmth, and it felt like heaven. He almost lost himself, almost let go of self control, he was so caught up in the feeling, but stopped as soon as he made a couple slightly faster thrusts and Steve made accompanying pained gasps.

Oh God, what if it didn’t get better for Steve? What if Steve thought he was lying and never relaxed, and Bucky ended up hurting him?

He stopped immediately, “Are you okay? You want me to stop? I’ll stop if you want.”

“N...no!” Steve spluttered, “You don’t need to stop. I’m okay, I’m fine.”

Bucky nodded quickly in agreement, and began moving in an incredibly slow but steady rhythm. And to his relief, Steve’s facial expression relaxed, and he felt the tightness leave Steve’s muscles ever so surely. He ran soothing hands over Steve’s still-trembling body, coaxing him to relax, allowing him to slip in even further with an accompanying gasp from the smaller man.

“Stevie, look at you. You’re doing so well. That’s all of me, doll. God you’re tight.”

“mmpnph,” Steve whimpered out in response.

“You okay? Talk to me sweetheart.” Bucky prompted, “How does it feel?”

Slightly to his surprise, Steve gasped out almost immediately, “Buck...Buck, it feels amazing now…”

“Oh...Oh, it does?” Bucky asked a little incredulously.

“So much…oh my God, Buck, you’re so big,” Steve sobbed.

“Stevie, God help me, you are perfect,” Bucky murmured, leaning in closer.

Hell if Steve’s words didn’t really do something to him. It felt good for Steve. That was all that really mattered here.

He hoped it was as unbelievable as it was for him though. Because the relief that it had started feeling better for his sweet, trusting lover? He thought he had come to full realization of the powerful sensation a second earlier, but now, as he set to starting a gentle rhythm with his hips, his mind truly went off into cloud-land as his worry vanished. This was okay...it was actually working. He still made sure to be careful, keeping a steady, lazy pace, but was very quickly completely lost in the feeling of Steve’s tight heat around him. Steve’s arms were wrapped around his neck and his legs tightly gripped around his waist, pulling him even further in Steve’s channel. For a minute, they were exchanging a sloppy kiss, quickly pulling back as they were both breathing heavily now.

Bucky move his lips down to Steve’s neck to kiss the soft skin there. The sounds Steve was making now were utterly gorgeous, and Bucky realized that Steve was definitely not faking any enjoyment. Bucky hadn’t touched him once, but the young artist’s adorable little cock was bouncing against Bucky’s stomach as they rocked close together, hard and leaking. He squeezed at Steve’s shoulders gently, running his hands over Steve’s prominent spine.

“God, Steve, you’re so good,” Bucky babbled in euphoria, “I hope it feels as good for you as it does for me doll. So tight and hot, holy shit.”

He shifted the angle a bit, gripping Steve’s hips and angling them up a bit, which turned out to be an excellent move, as Steve’s tightly scrunched eyes flew wide open on the next thrust.”

“Ahhhaaaaa” was the sound that issued up from Steve’s pretty pink lips, bright blue eyes glazed over and mouth gaping, “Buckkkk, oh my god.”

“Right there?” Bucky grunted, going in at the same angle again. He had apparently found that sweet spot, and he smirked as the next thrust caused a stuttered, whimpered cry louder than before.

“Yes...please…ah...yes.” Steve cried, trembling slightly, “Don’t ever stop!”

Bucky groaned at that, feeling that tell-tale tightening in his gut. He wished he could last longer, because fuck, this was like floating on a cloud. The heat and the pressure were overwhelming and the just-barely-there friction as he slipped in and out of Steve easily now was intoxicating.

“Stevie, baby doll, I’m close,” Bucky got out.

Steve moaned at that, eyes opening to meet Bucky’s gaze. The expression on his face was one of blissed-out pleasure again, and just watching as Steve’s eyelashes fluttered, feeling as his breath came in hot pants out of his parted lips — all of it was driving him to the edge at an incredible rate.

“Think I’m close too,” Steve half-whined, half-gasped.

“Whaddya need, punk?” Bucky asked, voice shaking a little as he approached his end.

Steve didn’t respond for a moment, as Bucky apparently hit his sweet spot twice in a row, and then he practically sobbed out a desperate, “Touch me, Buck!”

So Bucky did, maneuvering an arm between them to take Steve in hand, tightening his grip and running his palm up and down his cute little dribbling cock in time with his thrusts. Steve’s soft cries were immediately amplified and the arms he had wrapped around Bucky’s neck tightened their hold. Without warning, his whole body went stiff as a board, and he was spilling out all over Bucky’s hand again. And that clenching flesh that Bucky had felt around his hand was about ten thousand times better when it was wrapped around him. He clutched the younger man’s tiny, trembling body tight to his chest as he tumbled headlong over the edge, slowing his movements to languid thrusts, and just _feeling._

“Steve, Steve, oh God, Steve,” he cried reverently, “Holy shit, Stevie, baby doll.”

Finally the aftershocks wore off, and Bucky slowed to a halt. They just laid there for a moment, Bucky still buried deep inside of Steve’s warmth, as they both caught their breath. Bucky rolled them over so that they were both on their sides, causing Steve to gasp a bit, and he realized that they must both be very sensitive. He paused for a moment to make sure that Steve wasn’t uncomfortable, but Steve immediately settled down in his arms, smiling goofily up at him. Bucky was practically overwhelmed with emotion and affection as he leaned forward to join their lips together again, cupping Steve’s face in his hands. He sighed into the kiss, relishing in how delightfully soft Steve’s lips were, in how he returned Bucky’s kiss with an equal amount of passion., however uncoordinated. It didn’t matter. It was still the best kiss they had shared, with both of them laying blissed-out in each other’s arms and Steve still wrapped around his softened length. It was the best kiss of his life, by far. He pulled back after a minute to allow Steve to get some air.

“How was it?” Bucky asked softly.

Steve snorted a little at that, eyebrow raised, “Do you even need to ask?”

Bucky chuckled, “Guess not. Just curious.”

Steve smiled, looking both giddy and exhausted, before answering seriously, “It was better than I even imagined.”

Bucky returned Steve’s smile with a giddy grin of his own, tracing Steve’s cheek with his thumb.

“Happy birthday, Stevie.”

What did he ever do to deserve such an angel?


	14. I Woulda Kissed You Right Then and There

_—==July 5th-October 11th==—_

Steve’s POV:

The morning after, Steve awoke feeling refreshed and relaxed. Admittedly, when he got up to go get ready to check in at his office...well, he was rather sore. But honestly, it wasn’t as bad as Bucky had made it seem like it would be. He was sore all the time anyways, although never in that particular location before. As he shuffled off to take a bath, he noted with some surprise that he wasn’t really hobbling any more than he normally did with his scoliosis.

All he could say about the previous night was just...wow. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt so overwhelmed and ecstatic before, except for maybe the day Bucky revealed that he was sending him to art school, or after he finally confessed his feelings and Bucky immediately returned his affections.

Speaking of art school though...he had finally finished off his last year at Auburndale this spring. He could work full time on his comic in the Times Herald and on various illustrations they requested for their articles. He was also getting commissions for more detailed sketches and paintings from rich patrons that brought in considerable sums. It may take a while, but they would eventually pay off all that debt from school.

He didn’t always need to stop by his small room in the Times Herald office building, oftentimes just working from at home or Roxie’s, but he was meeting with a wealthy fellow who had a request for Steve to paint his wife today. Steve had quickly grown in popularity for painted or sketched portraits, because word quickly got around the well-off community that he didn’t need the person to sit still for hours at a time in order to create his pieces. He would likely just intently stare at the woman’s visage for about ten or so minutes today, draw a quick pre-sketch, and come home to actually do the painting. Sometimes, his nearly-perfect eidetic memory was truly a blessing. God had given him at least one gift, so he was very grateful for that.

Two days later, Steve was adding the finishing touches to the piece, easel set up in their living room with old newspapers strewn over the floor. Bucky came over to watch for a while, nodding in appreciation at the nearly-finished art.

“How’s it look?” Steve asked, swishing off the paint in his little water dish, and swirling the wet brush back into a neat point with his lips. He leaned back to inspect the still-drying painting from a further distance, contemplating what last little details he was going to add once this layer dried.

“Ridiculously amazing, as usual. I suppose I don’t know if it actually looks like the lady since I’ve never seen her, but if I had to guess...it definitely does.”

“I think so, yeah,” Steve murmured, "Could make the eyes a bit more expressive...she had some really bright ones."

“Ya know, it’s crazy, Steve. You really do have a special talent. It’s not just any artist that can paint a woman from memory they've only met once...and for less than fifteen minutes.”

Steve just smiled, blushing slightly, “Really, it’s nothing. I ain’t that special. Everyone’s got their thing, and this is just what I can do. Thank God, because I can’t do much else.”

Bucky furrowed his brow, “You’ve got more than one thing going for you.”

Steve really blushed now, feeling his ears burning slightly, “Like what exactly? Art’s ‘bout the only thing I’m good at.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Bucky shrugged, “How ‘bout the fact that you’re the bravest, strongest man I’ve ever met? You’re a survivor, a tiny hero, with about as much honor as I have ever seen in one human being. You’ve got this really irritating yet impressive tendency for self-sacrifice. Or how ‘bout the fact that you’re brilliant—smart as a whip? Or that you have the patience and self-control of a freakin’ saint? Or how about the fact that you are quite honestly the most adorable, gorgeous fellow I have ever seen, and you are literally all I have thought about for the last decade of my life?”

Steve’s breath was practically knocked out of him and he felt the flush quickly spread down over his chest. Oh, Bucky really was going to kill him one of these days.

“And I absolutely love the way you stutter and get all flustered when I talk about how much I admire you,” Bucky then whispered, “You’re so beautiful when you’re like this...makes me want to shower you in compliments all day long, every day, ya know?”

Steve laughed lightly, overwhelmed once again with happiness, and they shared a warm, affectionate kiss.

The rest of the summer and fall passed much in the same way as the past few days. There were many repeat performances of the events on the night of Steve’s birthday, and it was spectacular each and every time. Steve quickly became familiar with the feeling of Bucky within him, entangled in each others arms and linked together by their very flesh. And in that place, he felt safe and secure. In that place, he knew he was home.

What more could life have to offer?

What could be better than this?

Possibly the best highlight of the time period was on October 11th, when Bucky and Steve went to Coney Island to celebrate Bucky’s promotion at the radio factory. They were laughing and yelping on amusement rides for the better part of a day, without a care in the world. They were utterly stuffed on fair treats and glowing with warmth despite the cooling air as the temperate fall day faded into night. There was even one moment where they forgot that others were around, and Steve found himself licking caramel from the apple dessert they were sharing straight off of Bucky’s fingers, unable to keep some soft, appreciative moans from slipping from his mouth at the action. Thankfully, no one was paying them any attention.

And of course, the amazing evening was rounded off by a repeat of the scene that had haunted Steve for many months, back before he had gotten Bucky.

“How’d you like to do what I told you I would’ve done, when you came out to me for the first time? Maybe even do a bit of acting, yeah?” Bucky suggested suddenly before they left, eyes lighting up.

“Hmm?” Steve asked, not quite sure what he was talking about, swiping the last of the sticky caramel off his lips with his tongue and savoring the flavor. It had been a long while since he had indulged in such a delicious sugary treat.

Bucky gestured up at the Ferris wheel looming on the horizon, and Steve immediately realized what he was referring to.

“Ya know, the day you realized you loved me, but were too scared to tell me?” Bucky reminded.

“Oh, and you said later that if I would have told you, you would have kissed me right then, up there without anyone to see us?” Steve asked softly, cheeks feeling warm despite the nippy air. He wasn’t even trying to stop it anymore, especially since Bucky seemed to love how easily he blushed at any comment he made.

“That’s right. How would you like to re-confess your feelings and then we’ll do just that?” Bucky leaned forward and suggested. Steve nodded very quickly, heart picking up its pace. They purchased the tickets with one of the two quarters they had left after a long day of fun and excitement.

Feeling a little bit awkward, Steve began to act as they started lifting off into the air. But obviously, it was much, much less awkward than the first time he had confessed. He didn’t have anything to worry about—he already knew he had Bucky.

“So uh, Buck...there’s been something I wanted to talk to you about…”

Bucky looked over, slipping his jacket over Steve’s shoulder and putting his arm around his neck, just like he had done back last September. And this time, Steve just sighed into the touch, “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ve known you for a long time now, but I think I just realized...”

“What?” Bucky pressed.

Steve smiled tentatively, “I think I like you, Buck. As more than a friend. Like, just now.”

Bucky played along, pretending to act surprised, “Wait...what? Stevie, really? You’re honestly not kidding me right now...”

“Y-yeah,” Steve murmured, glancing away for a moment to gaze at the glittering lights of the park sprawling out directly beneath them, with the brightly glowing city he so loved rising up to frame it on one side and the dark expanses of the water lapping at the old wooden piers on the other.

“You’re okay with that? Really?” Steve murmured after a long moment, looking back up with hope in his eyes.

“You wouldn’t believe how very okay I am with that…” Bucky returned immediately, “Stevie, I’ve got something to confess too, I ’pose. I’ve loved you for as long as I could remember.”

“Oh...Oh,” was all Steve could think to say.

“Stevie, doll, would it be okay if I uh, kissed you?” Bucky asked softly.

Steve nodded, and then they were leaning forward just as the passenger car reached the apex of the ride and sharing that kiss that Steve had never known just how much he had wanted all those years. Even though the scene they had just recreated wasn’t really real, the moment was still quite powerful and wild emotions were surging in Steve’s chest once again.

He broke away, whispering tearfully, “Thank you Buck. Thank you for this, for everything. Today was amazing.”

“Anything for you, punk,” Bucky grinned madly, looking as flushed and exhilarated as Steve felt himself.


	15. War

_—==October 11th, 1940-December 30th, 1941==—_

Steve’s POV:

The next year or so passed in a blur—a delightful blur for the most part, mind you. Steve just basked in the warmth of Bucky’s presence, always present by his side. Less than two years ago, Steve could have never imagined that he would find himself in a stable relationship with his best friend. Even after his confession marking the start of their relationship in April of 1940, he had expected Bucky to get bored rather quickly and move on.

He was so glad to say that his past self had been very wrong. He knew without a shadow of a doubt now that he was stuck with Bucky for the rest of his days. He tried not to think about just how many days that probably meant.

If only he had figured out his feelings sooner. The doctors had always predicted that he would die prematurely, but their estimates had turned out to be wrong every single time. But Steve knew he was just fooling himself whenever he imagined growing old with Bucky, though it was a pleasant thought. In his mind’s eye, in his ideal world, he saw them sitting on the balcony of their apartment, watching the fireworks on Steve’s 80th birthday. Their wrinkled hands would be touching and there would even be wedding rings on their fingers. It was a silly, impossible dream, he knew. His health was deteriorating more and more over the years— there was no denying that. His arthritis was accelerating and his asthma attacks were becoming more severe. Though they couldn’t afford to go to the doctor to check, he had to presume that his heart condition was declining as well. He wasn’t really sad for himself, despite knowing that he would be very lucky to make it to age thirty. The fact that he had been around this long was already something to be grateful for...and he knew it was mostly because of the efforts of his ma and of course Bucky. However, he did feel sad for Bucky. He had made him wait for so very long, and he hated to face the idea that one day soon he would have to leave Bucky behind. It could be tomorrow, for all he knew.

He tried not to think about it. He would take as much time with his beautiful Bucky as he could get.

Regarding the War, they got some good news at the end of October, 1940. The news about the Battle of Britain had been incessant since the summer, and every other day on the radio they heard horror stories about the people huddling in the wreckage of their homes as bombs rained from the skies of London. Or, you know, just having their home blown up around them while they were fast asleep. For now, though, the assault seemed to have ceased. The German had apparently given up, thank God.

Bucky’s guess a while back proved to be true around November of 1940, as people started wondering why Bucky was no longer going out with gals around Brooklyn Heights. Bucky made the excuses he had suggested, however, and it seemed to work. Folks were a bit skeptical that Bucky had decided that it would be better to wait until after marriage to have sex, but when his answer never wavered, they eventually they stopped asking. Bucky slowly faded out of the public spotlight as his reputation as an infamous lady’s man disappeared.

Another bit of good luck was the fact that the winter of 1940 ended up being a relatively mild one for Steve. He hadn’t really gotten much more than a slight cold for a week with a really light fever. Definitely nothing like the scare they had had back in 1937.

“Oh shoot, Steve, God I’m sorry,” Bucky had told him when he first realized that Steve was sick yet again. Bucky had a cold a week ago, and he had been doing his best to stay away from Steve, sleeping on the couch and eating at different times than the artist with a weak immune system. Nevertheless, Steve still ended up getting it.

“Not your fault,” Steve reassured him, “You did your best. Considering I had to go to the store this week, it may not have even been you.”

Bucky just huffed lightly, wrapping him in blankets when he started shivering and did the cooking for that week. Steve tried not to make any faces at anything Bucky tried to cook for him other than soup, because that was apparently the only thing he could make somewhat correctly.

“Sorry, Punk, you know I’m no Rogers. Don’t have your family magic to make ‘bout any meal taste spectacular,” Bucky chuckled.

“It’s perfect, Buck,” Steve reassured, though laughing a little, but quite honestly, the warm bowl of chicken broth he was currently sipping was pretty decent. He wasn’t exactly picky right now since his taste buds weren’t really functioning properly anyways. Bucky nursed him for the remainder of the week, making sure he drank and ate enough and got plenty of sleep, and Steve was able to knock off the virus in a relatively short amount of time. Steve had recovered and it was warm enough to go out on the town with Bucky on his 25th birthday on March 10, 1941. He was really glad about that. Steve had felt really bad in the past around this time. Even last year, Bucky had to take care of Steve through his birthday, which always meant that Steve’s friend was sick himself if he hadn’t already had it. He had never complained about it, though.

In June of 1941, the buzz was about the Nazis invading the Soviet Union all of a sudden. In early December, they were celebrating the fact that the Soviets had successfully driven the Germans from Moscow with a successful counteroffensive. They cheered at the latest victory when they heard it on the news, and of course shared a celebratory kiss.

“Maybe we have a chance of winning after all,” Bucky noted hopefully.

A day after they received that hopeful news, on December 7th, 1941, it happened.

They had been listening to a Brooklyn Dodgers v. NY Giants game on the radio, when suddenly they were hearing something very much not about baseball: _“We interrupt this broadcast to bring you this important bulletin from the United Press. Flash, Washington – the White House announces Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Stay tuned to WOR for further developments which will be broadcast as received.”_

They had been previously laughing and cheering for their favorite home team, but now they just now sat staring at the radio, stunned into silence.

The broadcasts continued interrupting the game. Statements like “Attack on U.S. Soil” and “Possible Invasion” and “War comes to the U.S” were all that Steve and Bucky would hear and read about in the newspapers the rest of that day and the next.

This was the tipping point. There was no way that they could continue isolating themselves after this.

And indeed, the next day, the announcement was given. They listened intently as the speech from President Roosevelt crackled through their tiny radio:

_“Yesterday, December 7th, 1941—a date which will live in infamy—the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.”_

_“... During the intervening time, the Japanese government has deliberately sought to deceive the United States by false statements and expressions of hope for continued peace.”_

_“... I regret to tell you that very many American lives have been lost.”_

_“...Last night, Japanese forces attacked Hong Kong.”_

_“...Last night, Japanese forces attacked Guam. “_

_“...Last night, Japanese forces attacked the Philippine Islands.”_

_“...Last night, the Japanese attacked Wake Island.”_

_“...And this morning, the Japanese attacked Midway Island.”_

_“…There is no blinking at the fact that our people, our territory, and our interests are in grave danger.”_

_“...I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7th, 1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese empire.”_

In a whirlwind of emotions, the country braced itself to join the fight over in Asia and Europe, while also dreading future attacks right here at home. From the 11th to the 13th, the rest of the Axis Powers including Germany declared War on the U.S. in turn.

Steve would like to say that they had a meaningful conversation about the events of those chaotic days, but their response had been mostly panic and frantic speculation about what the future of the country would look like. Steve had thought that things had been bananas before, thought that he wouldn’t be surprised when the U.S. finally joined the fray, but nothing could prepare him for the day it actually happened and America blew up.

It was like walking through a dream. The enemy was not visible in daily life, not over here in New York, but the response to the events occurring so far away was still quite evident. It felt unreal. He been gearing up for this moment for a long time, but now that it was finally here...he felt lost.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t still just as determined as he was before to serve his country.

“I still intend to enlist,” Steve informed Bucky in a serious, determined tone.

Bucky groaned, “Steve, really? Fine. Enlist. They’re not going to take you anyways.”

“They might, you don’t know that,” Steve argued.

Bucky rolled his eyes, “Give it up while your dignity is still intact.”

Steve huffed, “Seriously, Buck? I’m not as pathetic as you think. I could operate a gun or do medical runs for injured men on the field.”

“No,” Bucky said.

“Why not?!” Steve snapped.

Bucky turned to look him in the eye, glaring fiercely, “Steve, you can’t go to war. End of fuckin’ story.”

Steve sighed, feigning defeat for now, “What about you, then?”

Bucky shook his head, “No...I’m not going either. It’s almost winter, and you know you need me during these months. Old Mrs. Lucy isn’t here anymore to find you if you collapse on the floor with a fever again, yeah?”

“Last winter wasn’t so bad!” Steve argued.

“And my family still needs me around as well,” Bucky added, “The older ones are busy with their jobs, so I need to watch after the others.”

Steve nodded. He guessed that made sense. But still, he was kind of mad that Bucky refused to even let him try.

He watched in a state of awe as posters about recruitment stations went up all over town in a flash, as factories like the one Bucky worked at were swiftly repurposed to make guns, bullets, and other machinery. There was no denying it.

America was at war.


End file.
